


Or Brûlant

by iris_avis (starryeyedlarry)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet Dancer Harry, Ballet Dancer Louis, Ballet Dancer Zayn, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Eventual Smut, Liam and Niall don't dance, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Top Harry, Top Louis, also I guess louis has a tiny bit of a manhandling/being carried kink?, anyhoo, but it's pretty self-explanatory, frequent french ballet terminology, gradual build, ive never used that term before in my life, like i said, lol what even are these tags anymore, only directly referenced in two chapters at the maximum though, versatile, versatile duckies, why did i just call them duckies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 140,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedlarry/pseuds/iris_avis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is about to say no. About to politely decline, even though the shock of actually being considered for such a role is making him slightly dizzy. He can’t accept. He won’t accept.</p><p>“We accept.” Harry grins, dimple popping in his cheek, a hand coming to rest lightly at the small of Louis’ back. Which, odd. “Of course, we accept. Thank you so much for asking us, Madam.” He bows his head a little and Madam Charee all but preens in delight at his politeness.</p><p> </p><p>After completing his prestigious dance training overseas, Harry returns to England to begin teaching in one of London's elite ballet schools. Only, certain dancers aren't too happy to have him suddenly on board. Or his well-fitted lycra uniform. Throw in some unusual dynamics, tense elevation demonstrations and an unlikely dance partnership, and you've got yourself a pretty interesting edition of Matthew Bourne's 'Swan Lake'. </p><p>Or the one where Harry is the new ballet teacher, despite him being younger than everyone in his class, and Louis is less than impressed by his inescapable talent. They sort themselves out eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> As always, enjoy! 
> 
> OTHER MEDIA:  
> Twitter: @starryeyediris  
> Tumblr: iris-avis

The setting sun glints brightly off of the water of the lake, like the twinkle of a star plucked from the sky and scattered across the earth.

Or water, rather.

A light breeze dances through the space and each ripple of the lake’s surface brings with it another glistening flash. Harry nearly lifts a hand to shield his eyes.

It’s late Autumn. His train leaves in the morning. The lake currently provides him headspace for reflective thought, and he briefly considers stripping down so he can bathe for a while. He quickly tosses the idea to the side when he realises it’s almost dusk.

Instead, he lets his eyes drift shut, grateful for being home again. Not that Russia was awful, quite the opposite. But sitting how he is now with the rippling water before him, adding weights to the tiredness in his bones, he is grateful to be back. He’s always been able to find space for himself by this lake, and he’s sure that it’s a fact that will never change. It’s serene and beautiful, two of his favourite things.

Though it’s not long before his solitary peace and quiet is cut short.

"You okay out here, love?" His mother lays a single, soft-palmed hand on his shoulder where he sits. She’s always had soft hands. People would say they are well-worked, worn and cushioned from labour. But Harry would argue that she’s simply always had soft hands. Still does.

He lays his own hand atop hers and strokes his thumb gently across the skin behind her knuckles.

It’s all Anne needs in way of an answer.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" She asks, though there’s a hint of a smile about her tone. It’s been a long time since Harry was truly nervous about dancing. She still remembers his first solo performance, aged just 7, he’d quite literally pirouetted his way into first place, but his pre-performance nerves had nearly made him sick. She remembers how his quivering chin and glassy eyes nearly caused her to question the necessity of the whole ordeal. Clearly he wasn’t happy, so why make him do it? But he’d squeezed her hand and nodded without meeting her eyes, determination the clearest picture on his face. So she’d let him go, watched him walk proudly out into the centre of the performance floor, and completely squash every one of her doubts. He was beautiful. And as Anne moves her hands to stroke gently down one of Harry’s cheeks, she smiles again, because he still is. Still is beautiful, and still is her jittery little seven-year-old. Though the jitters haven’t been around for a long while. And he’s quite a bit older than seven now. She smiles to herself.

Harry turns his head to look at his mother when she strokes his cheek, and her eyes hold something strong that burns with utter fondness and adoration. It’s the look she gets when she’s letting her guard down, allowing her love for him to seep into her thoughts a little too much. He smiles though, albeit a little weakly.

"Slightly." He nods, turning to look at the lake again. The hand on his cheek stills, then drops back to his shoulder and squeezes shakily, as though it’s an afterthought.

"Don’t be, love." She squeezes again. "You’ll be fine. I’m sure they’re excited to meet you." This time the smile is evident in her voice and Harry fights the urge to roll her hand off of his shoulder.

"I’m not famous, Mum." He says, gaze still fixed on the glistening surface of the lake. Her opinion of him has always been far too high. The bar of impress raised up far too much, and yet still he always manages to reach it. It’s started to become sickening after a while, like all the smiles and compliments churn together in his stomach and it’s all too sweet, all too much. It’s partly why he selected the training course in Russia. Where the smiles and compliments were dulled by the crackle of dodgy phone lines and shitty internet signals. Harry inhales deeply. Anne pats his shoulder twice, then let’s go.

He listens for her footsteps to crunch across the bark-strewn ground, but he hears nothing. The earth is too damp and she’s too careful. Instead, he simply sits, long enough to know that she’s definitely gone, before standing and stripping himself of his clothes.

The water is soothingly cool against his limbs and he floats onto his back and stretches his toes, releasing a long-held sigh.

***

When the initial notice had come through his letterbox, a swirled calligraphy, hand-written onto magnolia parchment paper in thick, royal-blue ink, Louis had definitely rolled his eyes. Not only was the notice unnecessary – he’d literally be seeing Madam Charee later that day – but its subject was entirely _not_ worth the expense of formal invitation.

Madam had actually _invited_ her _own_ students to their _own_ classes.

And now, gulping down the last few dregs of his takeaway tea as he waits for the bus – there really is no point in driving to the studio, parking is a nightmare – he is still just as unimpressed by the idea as he had been when it had first plopped into his hallway on expensive stationery.

 _Today is the day though_ , Louis thinks to himself as he chucks his empty cup in the bin. _The prestigiously trained Harry Edward Styles will be leading your technicality classes from this date onwards._

"Prestigiously-trained." Louis mutters under his breath as he spots the bus round the street corner. He rolls his change over in his palm. "Prestigiously a twat, most likely." He sucks in a breath as the bus pulls up. "Often are."

And, okay. Perhaps that’s a bit of dickish thing to say, but Louis has met with these kinds of dancers before. The ones whose training was so intense and so professional that the strictness of their regimes and the tightness of their pointe shoe ribbons had altogether resulted in the strictness of their tongues and the tightness of their arses. Tight-arse, egotistical twats. And Louis doesn’t really fancy having one as a teacher, thank you.

He hops on, pays for his ticket and takes a seat behind the driver’s cab, slightly wishing he hadn’t drunk his tea so quickly. He drops his bag between his knees and checks the time on the overhead clock above the windscreen of the bus. Some kids at the back start singing loudly and off key. Louis winces.

7:42am.

Just eighteen minutes until the scheduled ‘Introductory Assembly’ - or so it had been written on the invite.

Louis actually chuckles, humourlessly, as the bus pulls away.

 

***

 

The studios are nice. Clean. Honey-coloured sprung floors, white-washed bricks and floor to ceiling mirrors along one entire wall. They’re light and airy, differing only slightly in size. They are the epitome of what Harry had expected when he’d imagined ballet studios in Central London.

He glances around the room he’d been ushered into by a smiley man in overalls, eyes falling on the rickety, metal fold-out chairs. They’re arranged in neat rows and all facing the same way as though set up for some sort of lecture. If it weren’t for the ballet barres fixed along the mirrored wall, Harry would’ve doubted that this was even a rehearsal space.

"Ah! ‘arry!" The strong, French accent of a female turns Harry’s head and he places his duffel bag at his feet, extending a hand for her to shake.

She is a thin and petite woman, of roughly mid-forties, and her hand is wrinkly and delicate when he shakes it. She smiles at him with crows-feet eyes and thin lips. "I am Madam Charee. It is lovely to finally meet you."

"And you." Harry nods, returning her smile and releasing her hand. She smells faintly of cinnamon and Harry briefly wonders if she’s supposed to. Cinnamon perfume? Does that even exist? Surely not. Surely one’s desire to remind all whom they meet of glazed, sugar-crusted pastries isn’t so terribly high to warrant the need of a _fragrance_. If at all.

"My dancers will arrive shortly, to welcome you ‘ere." She smiles again, cheeks thin across her cheekbones. "They are very ‘appy to ‘ave you to teach them."

Harry smiles again, nodding and politely ignoring her slightly broken English. "I’m very excited to be teaching them. I’m sure they’re lovely." If his smile is noticeably weak, Madam Charee doesn’t mention it.

Silence lingers for a second and Harry wonders whether she is waiting for him to continue with the compliments. He’s about to open his mouth around words that have something to do with a "clearly dedicated work-space policy", when Madam Charee speaks instead.

"You’re so beautiful when you dance, ‘arry." She smiles again, too much, and laces her fingers together at her front. "I’ve seen your tape." Her tone is soft, her eyes much the same. Briefly, Harry is overcome by how much she reminds him of his mother.

And his tape? Oh. She must be referring to his show-reel. She’d _watched_ it? He’d merely sent it as an extra, under the necessity _of_ a show-reel, if you will. He had no idea anyone would actually _watch_ it. By that point he’d near enough been told his position was secured, perhaps egotistical enough to even believe it. He’d almost forgotten the reel even _existed_ , his Russian Madam’s words ringing in his ears of how he wouldn’t need one anyway, " _Not with our name by yours_ ".

"Very good." She opens her hands wide, still smiling. Her teeth are a tad too white. " _Beau danseur_."

And, okay. That was sweet of her.

"Thank you." Harry bows his head, letting a real smile slip into the corners of his lips. "Thanks."

"My dancers will be here any minute." She extends an arm towards a lone chair at the front of the room, facing the rest of them. "Please, take a seat."

Harry nods, picking up his duffel again and moving over to sit in the designated chair, rolling his ankles once he is sitting. They click as he rotates the joints. And though they’re painless, he grimaces. Perhaps he should have practiced at his Mum’s after all.

He glances around the room again, at all the empty chairs facing him, and instantly feels ridiculous. Like he’s in the hot seat. The metal creaks under his weight.

It isn’t long before he hears voices though, forced hushed tones and hurried whispers. Doors swing open and closed somewhere else in the building and Harry simply sits, hands in his lap. He’s longing for Friday, their first session, when this introductory stage is over so he can take control, start teaching, get these dancers on their feet and work them until they wished they didn’t have any. Work them like he was worked in Russia.

Okay, so maybe that’s a little harsh for their first ever session together, but the idea of being the teacher, the instructor, the figure of authority in the room when he’d spent years as an ant under the boot of his own teachers; it sends thrills of excitement racing through his veins. So much so that he doesn’t realise the students filing into the studio from a door at the back until one of them clears their throat absently. His head shoots up.

They’re well presented, postures strong, hair tidy and eyes kind. Well, most of them anyway. There are a couple who seem more reserved, some who seem a little confused and one who seems entirely miffed by the whole thing. He’s last in, and takes a seat right at the very back, in the chair closest to the exit. Okay, then. Harry doesn’t mind a challenge. His inner self cracks his knuckles at the prospect.

"Students, thank you for your punctuality." Madam Charee begins, and Harry feels that maybe he should stand up.

 

***

 

From his seat at the back of the room, Louis finds it easy to let Madam’s words fly straight over his head. He is in no way co-operative in this arrangement, and nor does he intend to be. This is just Charee’s attempt at creating ties with prestigious figureheads, an attempt at decent recognition from companies and schools much like whichever one she’d plucked this unwelcome specimen from.

Speaking of which, the specimen is now standing, moving into Louis’ field of vision, and Louis prepares himself for steely eyes, pouting lips and a brow set in a stiff line of ‘I am better than all of you combined’. He sniffs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. _Hello, human embodiment of the side of professional dance that I absolutely cannot stand, of course I welcome you warmly as my new teacher. How do you take your tea?_

Human-embodiment-of-the-aforementioned is tall, dark hair tied up in a half-hearted bun and jawline strong. With a broadish-but-not-quite build, typical of a well-trained ballet dancer, he more or less fits the bill of what Louis had been expecting. Apart from his eyes, they seem unusually soft at the moment. But Louis is no stranger to forced first impressions. His own eyes remain decidedly narrow.

From what he can see, the guy is wearing skinny jeans and a loose-fitting knit. Hardly doing wonders in showing off his professionally-sculpted, prestigiously-trained, carved-from-the-Russian-Gods-of-Dance physique. Louis almost scoffs.

Oh, okay he’s talking now. So he speaks.

"Hi, everyone."

Nice. Professional.

"I’m Harry Styles, as Madam Charee has already told you." This earns him a murmur of humoured appreciation. From all except Louis, that is. "And I will be running your classes from now on. Well, your main classes. Private lessons will still be with Madam Charee, I’m told?" At this, he glances over to her and she gives a solid nod in confirmation. He turns back to the group. "But I look forward to seeing what you all can do. I’m excited to be here."

Oh _lord_. Save the bullshit.

"And I’ve decided, as we’re only together for a short time this morning, and I’m yet to learn your skills," he pauses, reaching into his bag and retrieving a wad of papers, "here’s a list of instrumental pieces for you to choose from. In time for our first session on Friday, I’d like a short solo from each of you." The group is silent but it’s obvious that his news isn’t wholly welcomed. Choreography isn’t everyone’s strong point. Luckily, Louis loves it.

Seemingly sensing everyone bristle, Harry is quick to speak again.

"This is just for my benefit, so that I can see what I’ve got to work with." He smiles, dimples popping in his cheeks and eyes glinting with warmth. "And so I can get to know you all a bit better." He chuckles deeply. "You’ll soon learn that I’m terrible with names."

Yes, as is _everyone_ , now get on with it.

The humoured noises die down and Harry begins handing out the sheets of paper. They get passed back and once Louis retrieves his, Harry is standing at the front again, hands clasped behind himself, legs subconsciously in second position. _Not a bad turnout._ Louis notes, craning his neck to assess Harry’s feet.

"I’m sure we can achieve great things between us, and I look forward to finding out what they are." He nods, another smile. "Thank you."

Sudden applause breaks out from Madam Charee and the student’s half-heartedly join in, save for Louis, who is now studying the list of music choices and pinching his bottom lip between his teeth. Ludovico Einaudi? Every single piece on the list is by Ludovico Einaudi. Does the guy have a hidden contract with him or something? Jesus. It’s not even proper _ballet_ music.

"For today, Monsieur Styles will be simply spectating my private class with Zayn Malik, to see how we teach here. The rest of you will see him in your session on Friday afternoon." She informs them, Louis rolls his eyes. "Please now change for autonomous stretching, Studio 4 is set up for you. Zayn, you are to stop here for a moment, _merci_." She gestures over to Zayn with a delicate hand, and the rest of the dancers begin to stand up, gradually filing back out through the door they came in.

Louis looks up in time to catch Harry rolling his shoulders tiredly, tipping his head back and pushing a heavy exhale through pursed lips. He watches him a moment, amused by how utterly _relieved_ he looks – nerves always paint you transparent - then folds the sheet of paper into four and turns to exit the studio with the others. And if he snickers a little, no one notices.

 

***

 

By 7:45pm Louis’ amusement has dissolved into something with sharper edges. Not quite anger, but extremely close. Close enough that he’s ranting.

"He’s three years younger than me, Niall. Three years younger and he’s about to start _training_ me. Ridiculous."

Niall is well used to Louis and his rants at this stage. Has even begun to expect them. He tilts his head to one side as he offers his opinion, as Louis always insists he does, whether he actually has one or not. Luckily, this time he has.

"Well, you did say he’s been professionally trained himself, so to be honest mate, it doesn’t matter how old he is." Niall pulls the security tag off a t-shirt and folds it. "If he’s trained properly, he’s trained properly."

"He’s trained _differently_ , Niall." Louis counters as he finishes up a transaction and hands over the change to a stressed looking middle-aged woman. "Thanks, have a nice day." He closes the cash register draw with his hip, crossing his arms. "Yeah, okay so he’s been to Russia for his training, but that doesn’t mean he’s better than us. _Definitely_ doesn’t mean he’s equipped to _train_ us." Louis pinches his thumb and forefinger together. "Madam Charee just has this _thing_ about knowing people with big names. Connections. She drives me insane with it."

Niall just shrugs, handing over the girl’s change along with her t-shirt and wishing her a "pleasant shopping experience". She looks at him like he’s lost the plot.

"Well, maybe, just wait and see what it’s like on Friday. I’m sure if the training of the students is at risk, Madam Cherry won’t keep him around, no matter what his name is." He waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder and leans forward to rearrange the lip balm display on the front of the counter.

Okay, so Niall only slightly got it.

"I’ve got to do a solo routine for him too." Louis adds, picking at his nails. He looks over his shoulder to check there are no customers waiting, it’s almost eight now, the last few minutes of late-night shopping are drawing to an end so it should be relatively quiet until closing time. "He wants to see what we can do, but he’s only given us, like, twenty-seven pieces of music to choose from. All by the same guy."

From his place stretched over the counter, Niall hums to show he’s listening.

Louis, displeased with this limited participation in the conversation, licks his finger and wipes it across the exposed stretch of skin above the waistband of Niall’s skinny jeans.

"Oi, you little shit. I’m listening." Niall tuts and throws a lip balm over his shoulder at him.

Louis catches it with ease and folds his arms again, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his biceps. "I’m gonna do something different."

The blonde stands, brushing his hands clean from nothing and setting Louis with a look. "That definitely a good idea?"

Louis shrugs. "Don’t care if it isn’t."

Niall rolls his eyes fondly and turns to move out from behind the counter, heading over to tidy up the shoe display. It always ends up all over the place and it’s usually Louis’ job to straighten it out, but Louis is not about to complain when Niall seems willing to do it for him today.

"He wants to see what we’re good at, and what _I’m_ good at is going by my own rules." Louis lifts his chin defiantly, tucking the lip balm back into its plastic display case.

"Hmm, yeah and ignoring all the others. Maybe not the best attribute to have as a dancer." Niall calls over from rearranging a pair of Vans, chuckling, and Louis pokes his tongue out at him. "How about you prove your point another way?"

"Don’t care." He turns to fiddle with the display of shoelaces behind him. "All the music sounds the same anyway. It’s hardly a challenge, so if he wants to really test our attributes as dancers then he’s doing it all wrong."

"You really don’t like him do you?" Niall laughs. "If all the music sounds the same, why don’t you use that?" He frowns, picking up a discarded shoe. "Trick him out. I don’t know _how_ but-"

"Oh god, Niall that’s a brilliant idea!" Louis shouts, turning from the shoelaces to face the blonde across the store.

Niall frowns, then laughs lightly, shaking his head and rising on his toes to put the shoe back on the shelf. "You’re welcome."

A solid plan forms in Louis’ head and he’s suddenly overcome by thrilling excitement at the idea. Niall is a godsend.

The Irishman picks up an upturned trainer and fiddles with the laces to neaten them. "Hey, what did you say his name was-?"

"Think fast!" Comes a shout from behind him and suddenly there’s a metallic thud to the back of his head. A tin of lip balm clatters to the floor.

"Ow! You fucker, what was _that_ for?" He rubs the sore spot, pouting, and puts down the shoe in his hand.

Louis just shrugs, glances at the clock on the wall, and vaults over the checkout counter. Niall rolls his eyes as Louis makes his way over.

"Fuck you, Ballerina."

"Is this a request?" Louis waggles his eyebrows, and wraps an arm around Niall’s waist, tugging him closer with a grin. "It’s taken you _ages_ , Nialler. Wondered when you’d finally cave."

"Because you’re so irresistible." Niall deadpans, rolls his eyes again and wriggles out of Louis’ grip to pick up another shoe.

"Well, you _are_ doing my job for me." He gestures to the shoe display with a wide, closed-lipped smile. It crinkles his eyes at the corners. "I must be pretty special."

"Maybe if ‘special’ means ‘hopeless’, yeah." Niall shakes his head and straightens a pair of sneakers so they sit parallel on their shelf, then picks up the last of the shoes from the floor. "Really, you’d think a guy who’s so obsessed with his feet would take better care of shoes."

Louis knocks the trainer out of Niall’s hands and just grins at the disgruntled look it earns him. And it probably proves Niall’s point, but meh.

 

***

 

Friday rolls around just about _not_ quickly enough.

Louis is strangely excited at the prospect of shocking Harry Styles to his core. _We’ll see if he can charm his way through this._

He can feel nothing but buzzing anticipation in his veins, and he tucks his grin away behind a bitten lip as the bus pulls away from the curb.

He arrives at the studios perfectly on time, grabs a locker key from the shelf behind the entrance counter, and pushes his way through the double doors that lead him round to the changing rooms, smiling all the way.

Once changed, comfortable in old tights, three-quarter jogging bottoms and a pleasantly loose-fitting grey t-shirt, he moves through to Studio 1, where he then does as they always do upon entering for class – begins stretching.

His stretching partners, Perrie and Jade, are nowhere to be seen, must still be getting changed, and so Louis begins his warm-up _pliés_ on his own.

He’s on his third _demi-grand ronds de jambe en l’air_ when Harry pushes his way through the studio doors. Louis’ leg slowly drops from where it was fixed at hip height out to his side, foot scuffing the floor softly before he could finish the complete circle to the back. His right hip tenses in annoyance at not being allowed the whole exercise. He ignores it.

A few murmurs skitter around the room as the pleasant chatter from before dies beneath them. _And so they should_ , Louis thinks before realising it.

Harry is wearing white ballet tights under low-slung, grey jogging bottoms that he’s rolled up past his knees to reveal strong, dance-sculpted calf muscles. Only the top half of a black leotard covers him from the hips up, subtle half-moons of white tights peek above the low waist of his joggers, following the curve of the leotards’ hip seams, this time leaving no room whatsoever for the imagination to conjure up what could possibly lay beneath. No, that question is very much answered in the way of sharp hipbones, a subtle not-quite-there six pack, slightly-less-than-broad shoulders and biceps that only whisper towards the general direction of muscular. He’s managed to create himself a figure somewhere comfortably between burly and lean. The figure that most male dancers – Louis included - only dream of achieving. Though Harry maybe lacks in shoulder breadth, the muscle tone is definitely there, obvious in his posture and the way he holds himself. Though when he comes to a stop at the front of the room and slings his duffel off of his shoulder, bending slightly to lower it to the ground as his phone in his other hand lends distraction to his movements, Louis – who completely did not glance at Harry’s arse, which, for the record, also falls under the label of toned, not that Louis looked though - catches the briefest glimpse of a slouch. The _ghost_ of a once-slouch perhaps, only evident when Harry is relaxed, maybe. _Hah, can’t train them all to be sculpted models of perfection, eh Russia?_ Without stopping to even entertain the idea of questioning just where exactly his problem lies, or rather, with whom, Louis pulls the tip of his tongue back against his front teeth, pursing his lips. The anger comes without the need for pre-emptive amusement this time. Harry is clearly showing off, displaying authority, and Louis absolutely dislikes every bit of it. Completely. Every bit.

He turns at the barre to face the other way, changing to do his _ronds de jambes_ on his left leg instead. After just one complete half-circle sitting comfortably at hip height as always, Perrie and Jade dash in from the changing rooms and, after throwing apologetic smiles his way – Jade still fixing her hair up into a bun with hurried fingers – join him in his stretches.

It’s a whole fifteen minutes later when Harry claps his hands to get everyone’s attention.

Louis stands straight from his sideways stretch, one leg still propped up on the barre as he twists his body to face him.

Harry looks like he’s about to say something, opening his mouth and inhaling, when instead his attention is caught by Louis and he merely gestures a "down" motion with his hand, pointing to Louis’ leg, then to the floor.

Hot anger flares in Louis chest but he swallows down whatever retort was about to come flying out, focusing instead on the anticipation for performing his solo. His inner self rubs his hands with slightly-malicious glee.

"Right then, guys. Good morning." Harry opens his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, not waiting for the mumbled replies to his greeting. "I’m excited about today. Looking forward to you all showing me how good you are. Which is very good, so I’m reliably informed." He smiles, dimple popping in his cheek. Louis wants to roll his eyes. "I’ve got a list of your names here so I can learn them." He turns and grabs a notebook from his bag, opening it to the correct page before continuing. "I’m thinking we just make our way down it, yeah? So that’s… Ruby Archer first." He looks up, waits for Ruby to give a small wave, and throws her a warmish smile. "Hi, Ruby. Which piece have you chosen to perform to?" He asks, pulling a pen from the spiralled spine of his book.

"Um, well it can work with either 'Nightbook' or 'Solo'. I couldn’t decide which so I choreographed it for both." Ruby answers, then shrugs. "The only difference is the speed, really.

 _That’s because they both sound the same_ , Louis thinks, and this time does roll his eyes a little. Really, Ruby’s difficulty in choosing alone should’ve been one massive red light to Harry. Or maybe instead, massive, flashing red letters reading; ‘You’re picking the wrong music, mate.’

"Excellent. Indecisiveness isn’t always a bad thing. People will do well to remember that, I think." Harry replies, then shakes his head as if he’s gone off track and scribbles something down next to Ruby’s name in his book. "Perfect, Ruby. I’ll set the track up for you, just give me a thumbs up when you’re ready." He turns to place his book down for a second while he fiddles with the music system. "And remember guys, this is purely for my own benefit. I’m not assessing you for outside examination or anything, it’s just for me to gain an idea of what I’ve got to work with." He throws over his shoulder as he stoops a little to fiddle with buttons and knobs.

Eventually he returns for his book, sets himself in a chair with the system remote, and waits for Ruby’s signal to press play.

The rest of the performances go pretty much the same way. Some of them even having found it difficult to decide between three or four pieces. Each time, Harry simply smiles and assures them that it’s fine. _We’ll see_ , Louis grins inwardly.

As usual, Zayn Malik’s performance is sensationally beautiful. It's why he's Madam’s favourite, after all.

His delicate grace and strength balance equally, a rarity among male dancers, whom often end up falling either side of the line and into one of the two brackets.

Zayn Malik _pas de bourrées_ along the line itself.

He's always been the strongest of the group, and this performance is no exception. He’s chosen 'Nuvole Bianche', and it’s an elegant display of the harmonies between feathery smooth and dynamically rigid, so that his movements cut and glide through the studio space with precision. He’s soft in his delivery, artistic in his control. Louis hates him and loves him all at once.

When he's finished, he bows low and politely, feet in accurate fifth position, chest only heaving a little.

Louis watches as Harry’s grin widens once Zayn has finished, as though he was too immersed in Zayn’s performance to put enough effort into smiling properly. He nods once at Zayn, then scribbles something down in his notebook. Zayn wordlessly joins the rest of the group on the floor against the wall.

Louis is last on the list. Which is too much of a cliché for Louis not to scoff about. Leave the turning of the tables till last, okay.

He stands when Harry calls his name out, calmly walking to the centre of the floor and placing his feet in a tight third, hands behind his back.

"Louis, last but not least." Harry glances up from his book and meets Louis’ eyes. He smiles just like he’d smiled at all the others. Though unlike the others, Louis doesn't care for it. "Which piece did you choose?"

Harry has one leg crossed over the other, his rolled up jogging bottoms looking more ridiculous from this angle, and Louis doesn't even try to hide how he skates his eyes from Harry’s feet right up to his hair, then back down to meet his eyes again. He hopes his look of unimpressed boredom is clear enough in his gaze to not warrant him pulling a face. Going by the way Harry falters and slides one leg off of the other, it is. Louis preens inwardly at this, and he doesn't hide it from his voice as he answers, "I didn't."

Harry’s reaction to _this_ is possibly better. His mouth opens and closes just once, like a goldfish, then he presses his lips together, glances down at his book as if it's going to explain for him, then meets Louis’ eyes again. They're different now, less warm, more steeled. "Then what do you plan on showing me?"

Louis lets one shoulder lift and drop again in a half-hearted shrug. "What I can do, of course."

"And what did you choreograph then? If you didn't pick a piece of music?"

Louis shrugs with both shoulders this time, shifts his feet out of third to rest his weight more heavily on one leg, hip slightly popped as he lifts his face to the ceiling for a second. "It's sort of like Ruby, Harry." Louis smirks a little as Harry’s lips twitch downwards at one corner. "Sorry, _Monsieur Styles._ " He purposely corrects, leaning forward a little and relishing in the soft giggles from behind him. "I didn't choreograph anything, though. Because I didn't like any of the music." And he remains perky and matter-of-fact with his tone, eyebrows raised. "It is what it is."

There’s a short beat of tense silence. Then Harry blinks, sets his book on the floor beside his chair, and leans forward on his elbows, hands clasped between his knees. He sets Louis with a look. "So you simply point-blank refused to carry out my task?" And the giggles behind Louis immediately cease.

Louis purses his lips, not at all phased by Harry’s attempt at an authoritative tone. "Not exactly."

Harry slowly sits back again, though his legs remain spread, hands sliding up his thighs to come to a stop just before his hips, elbows pointed outward, eyes narrowing. "Then what are you showing me today, Louis Tomlinson?"

And Louis feels like bringing up the fact that obviously Harry lied on Monday when he said he's bad with names. He'd only glanced at Louis’ once before putting his book down, and yet here he is, reciting it perfectly fine. _How interesting. Do you often lie, Monsieur?_

Louis smirks again. "Whatever you want me to show you." And maybe that was a tad more on the flirty side than the cocky side Louis was actually aiming for. But hey, it happens sometimes. Zayn’s not the only one who doesn't fall into just one bracket. Louis can _pas de chat_ his way along a line just as easily, thank you. Though he's not sure this line would sell quite as many tickets as Zayn’s. Though maybe if- Off track. Very off track. Louis shifts on his feet again and doesn't break his eyes from Harry’s.

"Very well. If you want to improvise on the spot I'm not about to stop you." Harry shrugs, poking his bottom lip out a little as he does. "Might even work out for your benefit. But I still need to know what track I'm pressing play on."

Louis smiles, wets his lips and lifts his chin just the smallest amount. "Surprise me."

And it might be in Louis’ imagination, but he's sure he glimpses Harry’s eyes darken a little as he stands up and moves over to the music system. Which, odd. The remote was right by his chair. Okay.

Louis steps back into position, opting for the simple classical pose, arms in a neat bras bas, fingers soft.

After a few seconds, the opening notes of the song begin to play and it's obvious that Harry has not been kind in his decision. It's fast. Fast in a way that makes it particularly un-ballet-like. Not only that, but it's almost sporadic at the beginning, a time-signature of 3:4 becoming evident. _Tosser_.

 _"'_ Ancora' _."_ Harry raises his voice over the beginning. "One of my favourite pieces. It's so unique. Unlike all the others." And Louis is sure Harry is taking a jab at him for hinting that they all sound the same. He doesn't care though, ignores Harry’s triumphant smirk and closes his eyes, breathes deeply once. His headspace clears, filled only by the music, and immediately after he counts to a fresh phrase of four, he begins to dance.

 

***

 

"Yeah. They’re quite good. The first few were obviously a bit nervous, but overall the group’s technique is as I expected. Strong. Let's not forget they're in a London ballet school, after all."

"Quite. Oh, I knew you'd be okay, love. Are they nice?"

And Harry isn't quite sure why he's talking to his mother about this. He'd planned to keep her purposely uninformed. Not quite fancying her input 24/7. But for some reason hers had been the number he’d tapped to dial first. Maybe Nick would've been a better choice.

"Harry, love?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry answers automatically, though he doesn't know what he's answering, can't remember.

"Ah, good. I'm glad." His mother’s tone is warm, he can practically hear her fond smile. He exhales heavily. And it's not that he doesn't appreciate her devotion, he’s not ungrateful at all. She can just be a bit… too much. Sometimes. "Anyone that really stands out?"

"A couple, yeah." Harry answers absently as he stirs his pasta a few more times, phone tucked between ear and shoulder as he puts the lid back on and lifts the pan to drain it over the sink. "One or two are really very good. There's one, Zayn, who's incredible. His control is better than some of the guys I trained with last year, and they were _good_. And if you could see his emotion, Mum…" And Harry doesn't bother hiding his smile in his voice when he tacks on, "He's a Werther’s Original."

"Ah." His mother’s knowing tone makes him smile a little wider. "I see."

It's a joke they've shared since he was in his early teens and had moved to the next section at dance festivals. His mother would accompany him to his shows and competitions, as always, only the dancers he was now competing against were _different_. Different to the wide smiles and cheeky eyes that would earn them marks in the Junior sections. No, the Intermediate and Senior sections called for more technique, less charm. And if _Harry_ coped well with the adaptation, _so_ did his competitors. And his mum noticed the change in talent as soon as it came. Would often lean over to Harry in the dressing room, discreetly point to a fellow dancer who'd be limbering up or rehearsing their routine, and place one of her favourite sweets in his palm. "Watch out for that one", she'd say as he'd unwrap the sweet and pop it into his mouth. "Like a Werther’s Original, melts on the tongue."

When she'd first done it, Harry had given her the oddest look he could muster. Because since when could a human being be likened to hard butterscotch candy?

But then when he'd watched the dancer in question, how his lines extended beautifully, _relevés_ and elevations controlled beyond measure, Harry had understood. Watching him dance was like sweetness melting across his tongue, making him break out in goosebumps and twitch with the desire to start dancing himself. And ever since, dancers that give Harry that reaction are called Werther’s Originals, just between him and his mum.

"His name’s Zayn, you say?" His mother’s voice through the phone brings Harry back from his memory and he flips the pan upright again, shakes it a couple of times, then tips it once more. Once the last few drops of water have leaked out, he places it back on the hob again and stirs a spoon through the chicken quickly.

"Yep." He bends to grab a plate from the cupboard. "Zayn Malik. Quite memorable indeed."

"Oh?" Anne’s change of tone doesn't go unnoticed and Harry rolls his eyes.

" _No_."

"No?" She sounds slightly more deflated. "Are you sure? Not at all?"

" _No_ , Mum." Harry chuckles, tucking the phone against his shoulder again as he serves the pasta onto his plate. "I'm not getting into this again. I'll find someone when I find someone."

"But Harry, Gemma’s off travelling the world. I only just got one of my babies back, and-…" She sounds more emotional than Harry first realised. "I'm not getting any younger."

"Mum, you're not even fifty yet."

"I want _grandchildren_ , H." She practically whines, though he knows she's teasing.

"Yeah, well. Maybe Gemma is your best bet for now." Harry says, topping his pasta with the chicken then sprinkling rocket leaves on too. "You never know, maybe she's found a boyfriend somewhere along her travels. Might even already be married." He adds with a hint of mirth to his voice as he grates a small amount of parmesan, then adds some pepper for good measure. Oh, the diet of a dancer indeed.

"Oh, good _god_ , don't even _joke_ about me missing my daughter’s wedding!" Anne's voice is shrill down the line and this time Harry laughs, grabbing a fork from the cutlery drawer and closing it with his hip as he picks up his plate.

"Don’t worry, you’ve still got mine." He grins even though she can't see him. "And gay weddings are stereotypically bigger and better than hetero ones, remember." His mum is already laughing.

"Oh, love. You do make me giggle, I miss you." She sniffs then, and Harry’s grin fades.

He plops into the sofa and balances his plate in his lap. "I only left on Sunday, Mum."

"And it's nearly Sunday again! You've been in Russia for nearly four years, Harry. You can't blame me for being dissatisfied with having you home for just one, measly weekend." She argues, and Harry’s just glad she's not started crying yet. He wants to be able to eat his dinner, after all. "How do I know you’re okay?"

"Because I’m a big boy now." He answers as he hovers his fork above his dinner.

"You’ll always be my baby, H. Always."

Harry sighs, defeated, and stops his fork mid-twirl. "I know, Mum. I miss you too."

It's quiet for a while, and Harry briefly wonders whether she actually is crying after all, but then she speaks again.

"So, you said a few stood out. Zayn Malik we’ve discussed." _And crossed off the list of potential son-in-laws_ , Harry adds for her. "Any others?"

Harry puts his fork down completely, giving in and accepting that he’ll just have to reheat his food later. He grimaces at the thought of soggy rocket leaves and sour parmesan as he clatters his plate to the coffee table. "Yes, though not for the same reasons as Malik, you'll be most unhappy to know." He says, "At least, not entirely." He adds, then wonders why. But his mother is talking before he has a chance to dwell on that too much.

"Oh no, is he really that bad?" She hisses an inhale through her teeth and he can hear the kettle boiling in the background.

"Not bad, no. Definitely not bad, credit where credit is due, and all that. His technique is refined, emotion comes to him easily, not quite got the perfect control like Malik, but what really let him down was his attitude."

"A mouthy one is he?" His mum laughs lightly. A teaspoon tings against the inside of a mug. "What did he say?"

Harry shifts on the sofa, runs a hand through his curls. "It's not that he said anything in particular. More like he didn't do the task I set, back-chatted me in front of the group and then proceeded to absolutely knock me for six with his improvisation skills. If it wasn't for the fact that I chose the music just five seconds before he started, I'd have thought he'd have been lying about making it up on the spot. He's definitely a choreographer, that one." He sucks in a breath, then adds more for his mum’s amusement, "Got the mouth for it too."

"Mouthy and talented." Anne muses. "Sounds like someone I know."

"Shut up." Harry laughs. "Seriously, if you met him you'd realise he's quite my opposite. For starters he's tiny, smaller than some of the girls, even. Curvier than some too."

"Opposites attract." Anne quips and Harry groans comically. Anne's laughter comes through the line bright and strong. Only after it dies does she continue, "What's his name?"

"Louis." Harry answers. "Louis Tomlinson."

"Oh, is he French?"

Harry frowns. "Not that I know of." And why would that matter?

"Well, I hope this Louis Tomlinson gets his act together soon for you, love." And it's obvious she's rounding the conversation up. Her tea must be ready. "And keep me informed on the grandchildren front, yes?"

Harry sighs, though he lets a short laugh escape with it too.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" He picks up his fork again, prodding at his cooling pasta dish absently.

"Keep me informed, yeah?"

And he knows she’s not talking entirely about non-existent grandchildren anymore. And maybe he misses her more than he lets on, even to himself.

"Yes, Mum." He answers. "Love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Good luck with everything and drop me a text now and again." She takes a sip of her tea, he can hear it down the line as it slurps past her lips.

"I will." He says, though he can't say that it’s a promise, not really. He wishes he could.

Later, Harry reheats his pasta and winces his way through sticky spaghetti and limp rocket leaves as he watches a re-run of 'Catfish: The TV Show'.

His dance notebook lies open on the coffee table and every now and again his eyes flick to the list of names, his notes scrawled beside each one. During one of the advert breaks, Harry pulls out the pen from the ring-bound spine and draws a faint but definitive circle around the bottom-most name on the list. He’ll need to keep an eye on that one.

There’s dubstep-style music thumping from next door and someone in the flat above him seems to be having loud, vigorous sex. Turning the television volume up doesn’t help.

Harry finds himself wishing he had a lake to go and ignore the world at.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the formalities of introductions and inductions are over, proper training can begin. Only, Harry's teaching methods don't go down well with everyone.

"This is bloody ridiculous." Jade mutters under her breath between _petit_ _jetés_ before launching into the next step, a _ballonné_ _compose_ backwards. It knocks another breath out of her as she dances slightly behind Louis, moving out the way in time for the boys to take over.

"It’s like he’s purposely making this difficult. We don’t need cardio. This isn’t a fitness session, it’s supposed to be _technique_ refinement." Louis mutters back as he copies her steps before sweeping a strong _pas_ _de_ _basque_ _glissé_ across the space just like the other male dancers around him, finishing the miniature separate routine with a _relevé_ to second and back again, glad to finally _end_ the fucking lengthy piece with a _relevé_ _passe_ _derriere_ to an open fourth position, arms in an out-turned V above his head.

Sweat glistens in the hollow of his throat as he heaves greedy breaths of air and draws into a neat first position, arms as relaxed as they can be in _bras_ _bas_.

Harry is working them to the brink of exhaustion today. And Louis hates him even more for it. He’s clearly showing off, displaying his authority yet _again_ and fuck, why doesn’t he just piss up the walls while he’s at it?

It’s Monday, exactly two days since the solo performances. The solo performances that proved absolutely nothing whatsoever.

Louis was pleased with his though, proud that he managed to improvise the whole thing. He’s always enjoyed testing his own boundaries like that. Isn’t averse to pushing himself just a little too hard, witness how it changes him and what he needs to improve.

But _this_ can kindly fuck off, thank you. It’s not a _fitness_ session, it’s supposed to be a slow, strong two-hours working on technique and precision of execution. Not tiring them all out to the point where they can’t breathe. Even Zayn is looking a little flushed. Jesus.

"Right then!" Harry claps his hands together and moves to the front of the room. "Better." Is all he gives in way of praise and Louis sort of wants to punch him. "Next Monday we’ll do this routine again, it’s good for stamina and strength."

Soft grumbles fill the air and Harry’s brow tightens. "Or I could let you all drop, until your stamina is nowhere near a match to where it needs to be and no one this side of the Thames actually wants to hire you."

Silence.

"Good." He smiles, almost too much, and Louis sort of wants to punch him harder. "You may go and get changed then."

Perrie has to drag Louis towards the door before he does something stupid, his chest still heaving from the routine – or maybe that’s actually just pure rage.

 

***

 

"It’s fucking ludicrous! Fitness and stamina are important, yes. But not more-so than _technique_! Sure, you might lose out on jobs that require higher levels of tolerance for exercise, but at the end of the day, you can _always_ improve your stamina. Technique is something that needs to be _taught_. You can’t just top-up your technique skills in your own time. You need a teacher to train you correctly." Louis inhales deeply. " _We_ need a fucking teacher to train us correctly."

Niall sucks at the remains of his milkshake, leaning against the counter with one arm slung across his middle as he listens.

It’s just past twelve, their shift doesn’t end until five and yet the shop it already virtually empty. It’s because it’s a Monday. It’s always slow on Mondays. Which is fortunate for every other retail assistant in the shopping centre, except for Niall. For Niall, it means more time dedicated to listening to Louis rant at him.

"I just- Ugh! I want to hit him so, so badly." Louis seethes. "My calves are killing like a bitch and it’s _his_ fucking fault." He groans then, almost whines in defeat, and slumps across the counter, head falling against his crossed forearms.

"Sounds shit, mate." Niall offers between mouthfuls of milkshake. "Is it worth talking to Madam Cherry about it?"

Louis can’t even be bothered to correct him.

"No. She thinks the sun shines out of Harry’s arse crack. There’s no way she’d fire him. Even if he did something really out of place, like fuck Zayn or something." Louis sucks in a sigh as he straightens again and wets his lips absently. "Which is saying something. I genuinely believe it’ll come to a point where the pair of them are gonna end up having to literally fight each other to keep her attention. She loves them both too much." He shakes his head and cautiously hops up to sit on the counter, wincing when his feet throb at the sudden rush of blood sent to them.

"Maybe this is what he wants." Niall shakes his milkshake, frowns at it, and chucks it in the bin under the counter. "I mean, he wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t want some sort of reaction right?"

Louis purses his lips, rolls his ankles to try and soothe some of the pain spidering up his calf muscles. He really fancies a hot bath, to be honest. "Maybe."

"So don’t give him one." Niall shrugs, glancing over at a customer who just walked in.

"You think it will work?" Louis asks, completely not agreeing, he frowns, shakes his head. "It won’t, he’ll just take it as a green light to carry on the way he is." He chews on the inside of his cheek, arms crossed and brow furrowed. "He doesn’t seem like one for mercy."

"I think it will work." Niall nods. "Show him that his bullying is getting him nowhere, and he’ll back off. M’sure he will." He meets Louis’ eyes, smiles, then clicks his fingers at the counter. "Now get down."

Louis grins but does as he’s told.

 

***

 

The next Monday session is no different. If anything, it’s worse.

Harry is making them repeat the same three steps in a short routine arrangement, changing direction each time.

"And _glissade_ , _jeté_ , _relevé_ _passé_ , down, and _glissade_ , _jeté_ – keep it neat, Jade – down, and _glissade_ – mind your turnout Holly, keep that knee round – _relevé_ _passé_ , down. Again! _Glissade_ , _jeté_ , _relevé_ _passé_ – careful not to come up too high above your knee, Perrie." He’s nodding along in time with their movements, correcting them and criticising them as they go. " _Glissade_ – keep it strong Kevin, there you go, lock those knees on the _dégagés_. Good. Excellent, Zayn, keep it up. _Glissade_ , _jeté_ – not bad, Louis – _relevé_ – careful on that _relevé_ , don’t let your arms drop there, good. And! _Glissade_!- Three more times! – _relevé_ _passé_ , down! Good! _Glissade_ -"

Everything hurts. And Louis wishes that that was an exaggeration.

"Don’t let your tiredness show!" Harry calls above the allegro violin piece, hands clasped behind his back as he lifts his chin to inspect each dancer in turn.

Each _glissade_ burns Louis’ thighs, each _jeté_ aches his ankles, every _relevé_ _passé_ twangs something along the sole of his foot and the tiny pause between each round of the routine is nowhere near long enough to breathe sufficiently and so his chest is heavy, throat aching as he gasps shakily. He doesn’t even have the energy to complain to Jade this time. This is horrendous.

"One last time! _Glissade_ , _jeté_ – keep it up, guys, don’t get sloppy with it!" He shouts, pointing at Kevin in particular. "Watch your _plié_ in that _glissade_ then, Kevin, don’t let the knee bend forward. Keep it turned out."

And _finally_ , after what definitely feels like too long, the last repeat of the routine comes to an end and Harry lifts the remote to click the music off.

The silence left behind after the music stops is immediately filled with deep, desperate gasps for air and groans of pain. Perrie reaches to grab at her left ankle, hobbling over to sit down against the wall. Kevin stands with his hands on his hips, chest heaving and shoulders hunched. Zayn rolls his shoulders, wets his lips and shifts his weight on his feet.

Louis swallows, desperately trying to regain some moisture in his sandpaper throat, and keeps his eyes narrowly locked on Harry, his glare as cold as he can possibly muster. _Don’t give him a reaction. Don’t give him a reaction. Don’t give him a reaction._

Harry’s bends, reaches for his water bottle and swigs from it once. He swallows a couple of mouthfuls, throat rippling as he does, before his eyes fall to meet Louis’ across the studio room. Their gaze is heavy for a second, like Harry’s trying to calculate why Louis is so mad at him – which, _good, don’t give him a reaction, that’s what he wants_ – before he swallows one last time as he lowers the bottle slowly, mouth quirking up into the barest hint of a smirk behind the plastic rim. He then takes a second swig of water, closes his eyes, and turns, angling his body away from Louis completely.

Louis grits his jaw and turns away with clenched fists. _Bastard_.

 

***

_To: Nialler_

**_Yeah, so your idea sucked, Niall. I told you, he won’t change at all. He’s still a gigantic arse and it appears he’s gonna stay that way._ **

 

_From: Nialler_

_**Just keep at it, mate. He’ll notice and do something about it eventually. Don’t take any shit, I know you! You never do!** _

 

_To: Nialler_

**_I can feel my tolerance dissolving the longer I keep up with this. He’s not actually teaching us anything!_ **

 

_From: Nialler_

**_Keep your chin up, mate. Drinks tonight after the shift?_ **

 

_To: Nialler_

**_Think I'm gonna need em. See you later._ **

 

_From: Nialler_

_**Later, bro.** _

 

 

***

 

Louis has good reason to dread the next session.

Yet again, the scheduled technicality class seems to have been turned into a fitness one instead.

Louis has quickly grown to hate Mondays.

Friday’s aren’t all that different, only Harry allows them time to relax between exercises. Niall says that maybe he’s taking pity on them, with it being the end of the week and all. But Louis’ sure that it’s more likely because Friday classes last all day, and if Harry were to treat them like he does on Mondays, they’d all be dead by 4 o’clock.

But for now it’s Monday, and Louis is really quite ready to kick Harry in his perfectly-defined calf muscles. That is, if he had the energy to.

Because today, Harry has them all performing repetitive routines of four _eschappé battu’s_ with _entrechat_ _quatre_ between each - meaning elevation is crucial - followed by three off-beat _piqués_ – needing controlled and steady precision - over and over and _fucking_ over. _Jump out, in beat, jump out, beat spring, lift, lift, down, wait_. Louis is sweating along his hairline, Jade is wheezing a little beside him, and earlier on someone slipped mid- _eschappé_ and have since left the class altogether.

Yet Harry is _still_ making them do it.

The strained tension that’s locking Louis' fingers rigid isn't solely due to concentration anymore. He prays, for Harry's sake, that Harry doesn't bring him up on it, else he probably _will_ poke them into his eyes.

Harry is strolling the line as they complete each repeat of the routine, every now and then he'll make them turn with their _piqués_ so that they're facing the mirror, where they then complete the routine a few times under their own scrutiny. This is usually when Louis feels his anger boil stronger in his throat and he has to force down the urge to shout really quite loudly.

"And two more times!" Harry raises his voice above the music. It's some sort of allegro piano piece on a loop, and must have been going for at least twenty minutes solid by now. Louis throat burns from panting with each jump, his calves feel like they're about to peel off, and he's starting to get cramp in his jaw from clenching his teeth so hard. He will seriously need to de-stress after this.

They complete the routine two more times, every jump becoming more and more like Louis' got lead balloons tied to his feet, and finally Harry stops the music.

"Okay! Everyone in." He beckons them all to join him at the front of the room and Louis seriously considers turning in the exact opposite direction and leaving instead. But he doesn't. He follows the rest of the group as they gather around Harry, still heaving heavy breaths, and rolls his jaw to try and relieve some of the ache. It doesn’t really work.

"Good work today, guys. Not bad at all." Harry says.

And how can he remain so smiley and approachable after working them all so hard like that? Does he not show _any_ compassion? None at all?

"We do need some improvement on our elevation, some of us get tired too quickly and let our jumps become too small."

Clearly not. Fucking _hell_.

Harry then steps slightly away from the group and positions his feet in fifth, hands on his waist, like everyone else had been just moments before. "You need-" He pauses to jump out into an _eschappé_ in second position, legs wide, "- to make sure there's always enough space between your feet and the floor-" he then jumps up and in with a perfect beat of his ankles as they swap mid-air and back again, "- for another set of feet, yes?" He raises his eyebrows after his demonstration, pointing to his feet and waiting for nods. They nod and he relaxes again. "Other than that, it's simply your ability to remain energetic. Which, after enough of these sessions, shouldn't be a problem for much longer." He smiles as he reaches into his bag for his water bottle and really? All he did was one measly _eschappé battu_ , just one. _He_ needs water? Luckily, Louis' growl is muted by the dryness of his throat - ironic - and he's slightly too distracted by Harry swigging from his bottle to try again after swallowing.

Later, he changes in miffed silence.

 

***

 

"I don't want legs anymore." Louis mumbles into the table-top.

The pub around them bustles with life, loud chatter and boisterous laughter. Someone on a table nearby is shouting his drinks order to the barman from his seat. Unsurprisingly, this gets him nothing in the way of service and he starts complaining loudly. Louis groans into the varnished wood of the table.

"Come on, mate. It can't be that bad. What did he make you do? Run across the ceilings without falling?" Niall shoves him gently with his shoulder. Louis lifts his head to glare at him, opening his mouth to speak but- "And don't give me any of that ballet _French_ bollocks either, you know I don't understand it."

Louis snaps his mouth shut, narrows his glare and then slumps against the table again.

"Mate, have a drink." Liam pipes up from his other side. "Just one, maybe. I know it's a weekday but you've got tomorrow morning off, right? Just have one. Soothe the aching a bit."

Louis just groans, his arms and thighs are throbbing, burning like they’re beyond ruined, and he doesn't even know why he agreed to come tonight anyway.

"Or," Liam begins, inhaling deeply as if he's about to regret what he's going to say, "If you want, I can lend you my keys again and you can-"

"Yes." Louis' head snaps up. "Yes! That’s what I need, oh my god, Liam please give me your keys!" Louis is nearly in Liam's lap, hands cupped ready to be handed them, eyes expectant.

"Fuck _me_ , how did you get that to work?" Niall chuckles into his glass, utterly impressed. He leans over and rubs at the table-top with two fingers. "Can still see his forehead print, Li, _Jesus_."

Liam just shrugs, leaning to one side to grab his keys from his pocket and handing them to a slightly impatient Louis, who promptly smacks a kiss to his surprised mouth and leaps up out of the booth, pain in his legs seemingly forgotten. "Thanks, Payno! I'll get them back to you this time, I promise!"

Liam just rolls his eyes, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sips his drink. Niall laughs.

 

***

 

It's almost 9pm and Harry is still at the studios.

After the morning session with Zayn's group - because it's become "Zayn's group" according to Madam Charee, and Harry has just adopted the name too - he had to quickly dash home to eat something before he was wanted back to meet with the woman herself.

It had only been planned as a short meeting, and Harry had to text and cancel his scheduled phone-call to Gemma when he realised that Madam Charee's chatting had taken them well beyond 6pm. How he'd managed that long without pulling his hair out, he didn't know. The woman is extremely difficult to keep up with. One minute they were discussing strengths and weaknesses in his students, and the next she was showing him all the good websites for _pointe_ shoes. Maybe she's nuttier than he first realised. Like a nutty little squirrel-lady with a permanent ballet bun.

After the meeting had finally ended at 7pm, Harry had desperately needed some downtime and so figured his best bet was to head to one of the smaller studios upstairs, where he could polish up some technique to clear his headspace of dance-wear websites and just exactly how splendidly _brilliant_ Zayn Malik's _pirouettes_ are.

He's currently trying some himself, using the reflection of the green fire exit sign above the door behind him as a spot. His current personal record is 47 without faltering _en_ _dehors_ , and 43 _en dedans_. His outward turns have always been stronger than his inward ones.

But he plans to beat both records tonight.

The studio space is good for this, he thinks, as he snaps his head back to the fire exit sign with each _pirouette_. He finds peace in the silent solitude, it’s serene, almost as good as the lake back at his mum's house. But not quite. His mouth teases a smile at that.

He sucks in a breath as his total number climbs, his feet beginning to feel a bit less steady with each turn. 45, 46, 47, _48_ …

 

***

 

One beautiful, brilliant thing about being best mates with the caretaker of your dance studios is the after-hours access. Always, always.

_This_ is where Louis can relax. _This_ is where he can stand in the centre of the room, eyes closed, and inhale deeply and slowly, until _he's_ ready to move. Not taking orders from anyone. No one telling him how to dance, how to use the space, it's just him. Completely alone, completely at peace.

He's changed back into his earlier clothes and, despite the slight hint old sweat from this morning's session, they're just as comfy as when freshly washed. Finally the ache in Louis' jaw is starting to fade.

He presses play on the remote and skids it across the floor and out the way. It knocks against the mirror just as the track begins.

Louis lets a smile spread across his lips as the music settles around him. This isn't time for ballet. This is time for _Louis_ and Louis’ own movements, his _own_ choreography. And as he begins to move, the familiarity of the routine settles in his bones. Maybe he’ll get this one finished tonight.

 

***

 

Harry’s triumphant smile doesn't dissolve even after he's packed away his bag, shrugged on his jacket and turned off the studio light. Not even after he's been to the loo quickly, shaken out his hair from his bun and started making his way back downstairs.

58 _en_ _dehors_ , 52 _en_ _dedans_. Almost more than ten over his last record in both. His smile only widens as he jogs down the last few stairs.

Which is maybe why he’s still smiling when he casually glances in the small window of Studio 1, wondering why the lights are on so late. Did he forget to turn them off?

Only, no. He didn't. He _definitely_ turned them off, but they're _definitely_ not turned off anymore. And hold on, there's _definitely_ someone in there, actually.

Harry cranes his neck to see further round, looking as far along the near the wall as he can-

-and spots him.

Louis Tomlinson.

He’s leaning forwards, delicately unfolding his right leg behind him into a stunningly perfect _arabesque_ _penché_ , his lifted leg almost completely in line with the supporting one, back arched beautiful as he puts every effort into creating one, long vertical line with his legs, arms braced against the wall with spread hands.

He's _training_ himself.

His eyes are closed, brow creased in concentration, bottom lip pinched between sharp teeth.

Something in Harry’s abdomen thrums. And he's about to step away, leave him be, but then Louis is _moving_. He's dropping his leg, pushing away from the wall and turning in quick spins across the space, head whipping as he spots even though his eyes remain closed as he turns three, four, five times.

Then he’s falling slowly to a crouch, head dropped between his knees, back heaving with deep breaths. He shoots one leg out to the side, one arm reaching out parallel to it, face contorted in what looks like pain and confusion, though his eyes remain closed. He then sways on his knee, leans towards the direction he's reaching for, before clenching his fist, pulling and rolling back on himself, ending in a sitting position with one leg propped up over the other. From there, he stretches up and backwards, using his hands behind him on the floor to support his weight, head dropping back off his shoulders. The movement defines all the lines of his toned muscles, abdomen and biceps tensing and moving under golden skin where his t-shirt as been rucked up by his movements, and Harry can see sweat pooling in the hollow of Louis’ throat. He swallows, blinks a couple of times and glances to check he's alone. It'd seem extremely odd if he was caught loitering outside his own studio room. Especially this late at night.

Luckily, the hallway is quiet and empty, and Harry inhales a shuddery breath before turning back to the window.

In Harry’s momentary lapse in spectating, Louis has gotten up onto his feet again, and Harry is about to move away from the door this time, but curiosity grips him by the shoulders and whispers into his ear to open the door, just a crack, so he can hear the music Louis is dancing to.

This isn't ballet, this is something else, something new and raw and _personal_. And this is _Louis_. The student who was most difficult during their first session, who answered back, who was defiant. And yet, during the harder sessions every Monday, he never says a word. He never complains, never falters. He glares yes, glares a _lot_. But he works through the pain, works through every stressful routine Harry throws at them all. And now, he’s alone, he’s choreographing his own work and he’s _free_. He _looks_ so _free_.

Harry wants to know what sounds Louis’ inspiration sparks from, what makes his imagination ignite like this. What music he’s chosen to express himself through, if Ludovico was such an offensive suggestion.

The niggling desire burns in Harry’s gut.

He gently pushes the door, grateful that none in this part of the building have handles, and places his foot just inside it to stop it from closing again.

And, oh. _Oh_.

Harry waits with bated breath as the bridge crescendos to the chorus, knowing, as a dancer himself, that it's the perfect build to create the dynamic of a mood shift. A run, a gallop, a leap. Something _big_. And he wants to see what Louis will do.

The crescendo meets its climax, drums and guitar building in two counts, and Harry’s eyes remain fixed on Louis to see what he does with it.

And, _wow_. Basically. Because what he does with it, is a triple _pirouette_ followed by the strongest, neatest and highest double _cabriole_ Harry has _ever_ seen. And that's saying something, seeing as Fredrick Dwain back in Russia was _known_ for them.

Louis _flies_ , torso perfectly lifted and tensed, arms unfolding delicately above his head has he executes the leap, turning in mid-air with a double beat of his legs, to land without any hint of a stumble whatsoever.

And Harry wants to stay and watch the rest, wants to see what else Louis has been keeping secret; but his phone rings in his bag and he startles, fumbling to grab it and shut it off at the same time as putting as much distance between himself and the door to Studio 1 as possible, wincing as it bangs shut behind him. He misses the call, sees that it's Gemma who phoned and sighs, realising that he should probably call her back sooner rather than later. Time zones are always a gigantic pain in the arse, and tonight even more so, because Harry catches a flash of movement through the window, glimpses Louis in mid-air again, eyes open this time, open and blue and _full_ of passion. Harry curses under his breath, waits for Louis to disappear from view again, and turns to push his way out of the building and into the chilly night air instead.

Louis is good. Extremely good. Brilliant, even. And if it weren't for his snarky attitude, Harry would tell him as such. Tell him outright. _Werther’s_ _Original_.

But instead he gets an idea, a smirk quirking the corner of his mouth as his plan develops, a dim lightbulb brightening as it begins to formulate in his mind. He dodges a man walking his dog, meeting his eyes briefly and smiling warmly at him as he passes.

The wind is cold against his cheeks, brushing his curls into his eyes. The desire for some mint tea blossoms in his mouth.

He's suddenly extremely eager for their next session to arrive.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having witnessed just what Louis can do - and just what Louis is curiously keeping a secret - Harry lets his plan begin to unfold. It isn't received very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a delay! I've been away for a week and originally intended on posting this before I left, however computer mishaps and packing panics got in the way! To make up for it, have two chapters in one update. 
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome. 
> 
> Enjoy! :) 
> 
> P.S. Because I'm a bizarre banana I use various symbols to mean different things in my writing. To help you out, "***" means a scene change, and "//" means a change in POV within the same scene. I'll add to this key as and when I need to throughout the fic.

Louis wishes looks could kill.

He really, _really_ fucking wishes looks could kill. Because if looks could kill, Harry would be dead, and thus out of his hair.

But alas, looks _can’t_ kill, and so Louis has to make do with rolling his fingers into a tightly clenched fist instead of voicing every snappy comment that’s currently bouncing around against the insides of his skull.

And the worst part? It’s a Friday. So he’s stuck here tolerating Harry Styles _all_ day.

"Come and form a line then guys, please." He Who Would Totally Be Dead Right Now calls out to the class as soon as his bag hits the polished wood floor. He’s only just _arrived_. Why the sudden haste to get going? Louis hasn’t even finished stretching yet, Christ.

"I want you all along the barre, please. Spaced out so you can show me your _développé en l’air_." Harry continues. "But face the mirror, I’d like to see them _en arrière_."

And okay, so he clearly knows what he’s talking about. But does he really _need_ to shove the terminology down everyone's throats? Really?

Louis takes his place at the barre with the others, slotting between Perrie and Kevin, who throws him a weak smile. Louis returns it in much the same manner, then focuses his attention on the mirror in front of him, or more accurately, Harry’s reflection in the mirror in front of him. He’s dressed just as ridiculously as he always is. A plain black t-shirt with sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and pale pink ballet tights this time, partially hidden under knee-length, faux-denim jeggings. Fucking _jeggings_.

Louis’ grip on the wooden barre tightens.

"Your right legs first, please." Harry lifts his chin, eyes skimming along the line to check everyone heard him. "And, draw _up_."

Louis follows the instructions like everyone else, drawing up his right foot until his pointed toes touch the back of his left knee, leg creating a perfectly turned out triangle at the side. He then waits for Harry’s command before slowly extending his right leg up a bit more, then back and straight out behind him, making sure to keep his ankle turning under, left knee locked and hips square to the barre. It’s all a lot to keep track of and Louis knows why Harry chose it as their first exercise this morning. He’s _still_ testing them. And it’s getting old very quickly.

Harry makes them hold their extended _arabesques_ as he strolls along the line, inspecting each of them in turn.

Keeping his leg elevated behind himself like this is causing a clenching ache to bloom in Louis’ lower back where it arches just above the curve of his buttock, tensing to keep his leg locked and lifted where it is. He’s supposed to keep his torso upright, so that his leg extends at almost a right angle to his body. But it _hurts_ , holding it up like this for so long. It pains the muscles at the small of his back, his right thigh burning to keep the leg locked and controlled. Pointing his foot is beginning to give him cramp too. _This is why you let your students stretch first_.

Harry’s just two people away from Louis when Perrie drops her leg beside him. She scoops it forward, bending at the knee and lifting it up into the cradle of her torso as she doubles over to rest her head on the barre between her hands. She looks in pain, clearly willing her back to bend the other way so to try and ease some of the ache. Louis completely understands, though he does his best to keep his leg lifted. It’s probably dropped in height a little since he first started, a sheen of sweat now appearing across his forehead in the mirror. He clenches his teeth.

"Louis." Harry’s voice then appears at his shoulder. "Nice strength, good control." Louis is beginning to suspect that that’s all he has to say but then Harry wraps his fingers firmly around Louis’ shin. He places the other hand flat across the curved base of Louis’ lower back, and pushes his leg upwards.

"Shit! _Ow_!" Louis snaps, dropping his head and moving his hands to grip the barre tighter along the length of his forearms. It’s not how you’re supposed to hold the barre, but Louis gives exactly no shits. " _Oww.._?!" He tries again.

Harry doesn’t relent, simply says, "Push against me."

Louis growls, lifting his head again and meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He then flicks them to meet Harry’s instead and there’s no way he’s imagining the amusement behind them. _Wanker_. There's something else too, something skirts along the edges of his amusement, a kind of _knowing_ that radiates with his control. It’s unsettling, but it disappears as Harry begins to grow impatient, and Louis drops his gaze.

With a sigh, Louis pushes down, and Harry pushes up. The ache in his back burns ten-fold and Louis bites his lip, hard. He’s determined, absolutely _determined_ not to let Harry succeed in breaking him. Not now, not ever. He pushes down harder, the muscles in his neck tensing, his knuckles whitening at the strain.

After what feels like an hour but was probably just a few mere seconds, Harry drops Louis’ leg and steps up close behind him, his hand still pressed to the small of his back. Louis’ resulting exhale of relief covers the stutter in his breath at Harry’s sudden proximity, which he is grateful for, because _why_? He’s still sweating, too hot, and Harry being this close to him is making him feel slightly claustrophobic. What is he even-?

"Bend forward. Double over." Harry instructs, and if Louis were more with it, he’d have snorted. "Curl your spine the opposite way, like Miss Edwards did a few moments ago."

And wait, Harry saw that? Why didn't he say anything to her?

But Louis does as he’s told witout speaking, drops his arms to swing from their joints at his shoulders, and lowers his upper body slightly, allowing his back to curve in the opposite way to how it had been. The instant relief floods him like a cool breeze on a hot day, flurrying along his every limb, tingling at his fingertips.

Harry’s hand pushes gently, guiding Louis to curve further still. His nose is already almost knocking his knees and _how flexible does Harry think he is_?

"Relax your back now, but stay like this." Harry says, twisting his wrist and pushing the heel of his hand into the tightest muscle directly above the leg Louis had been extending. It’s where it hurts the most and Louis lets out a short grunt of anger at Harry applying pressure there. "Breathe, Louis, you're too tense for this to work otherwise."

Louis momentarily wonders whether they all got this level of treatment after Harry inspected their _développés_. But agan, he swallows his comments and does as he's told, frustration and aggravation boiling in his chest.

His answer comes later when they’re all getting changed out of their dance-wear - in the unisex changing room, because no one really cares about being looked at anymore. As a dancer, you become immune to people looking at you getting dressed. Hurried costume changes backstage and last-minute wardrobe malfunctions help to create this immunity, and eventually you just stop worrying about it. If people see, people see. No biggie. And besides, no one really cares enough to look anymore anyway.

"What was up with you today, Louis? Since when did Monsieur Styles give you special treatment, eh?" Perrie nudges his side with a playful grin and Louis frowns.

"What?"

"Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice. He _pushed_ you today." Perrie raises a single eyebrow and turns to tuck her ballet shoes into their bag. "He doesn’t push everyone."

"He _does_ push everyone." Louis corrects, folding his t-shirt.

"Not like that." Perrie whistles. "You were sweating like mad and he was pushing you further still. Its either he’s seen something in you that he wants to address, or he just really likes watching you suffer." She laughs, shaking her head as she closes her locker.

"Probably the latter." Louis mutters, not sure he can deal with the idea of Harry actually having found something in him worth admiring enough to _address_.

"Probably the latter." Perrie repeats, poking her bottom lip out in thought. "Or maybe both." She then winks and shoulders her bag before stepping around him and heading for the door. "You’re coming for drinks tonight, right?" She stops and turns back to him.

"I am?"

"Yeah, we’re going out." Perrie nods. "For Kevin’s birthday? He invited everyone."

"Kevin? I barely speak to Kevin." Louis frowns, almost laughing at the idea.

"Oh." Perrie pulls a face. "Might be why you didn’t know about it then. I thought he’d invited the whole group, but obviously not." She frowns and then meets his eyes. "Sorry, Louis. We’ll go out again another time, yeah?"

"It’s okay, I don’t really feel up to it tonight anyway." And he doesn’t. "My back is still killing me and I kind of just want to fall asleep in the bath."

Perrie laughs, readjusting her bag on her shoulder. "You’re such an old lady, Louis Tomlinson."

"Oi!" Louis pouts comically. "Am not. I’m a cripple, no thanks to Harry Fucking Styles."

Perrie's resulting cackle can still be heard even once she's left the changing room altogether.

Louis closes his locker with a huff.

 

　

***

 

　

Two days later, it’s Monday again and Louis winces at the fact that they may well be forced to do more fitness shit today.

But when he gets to the studio, changed and stretched, he realises that that’s not the case. No fitness today, because Harry walks in wearing only a leotard and tights, biceps rounded under the lycra sleeves, hips narrow and slender and wrapped tightly in black spandex, his shoulders broad and pushed back as he swings through the double doors.

"We’re all going to learn something new today." Harry begins, clapping his large hands together with his usual charming smile.

_All_? Interesting.

"Line up along the barre again, the same as Friday." Harry instructs, and the students do as they're told. "Hands on the barre, feet in third with your right foot at the back."

Huh, quite the lack of ballet terms today. Interesting.

"Now, this step is very similar to a simple _arabesque_ , in that it involves-- actually look at me." He quickly changes the course of his sentence and Louis frowns. Okay.

They all turn to face him, and he smiles upon their attention.

"Watch first, then I'll explain." He quickly says, and Louis thinks that maybe they're actually about to see the famously-named, prestigiously-trained dance-wonder _do_ something worth looking at for once.

But, no. Because Harry doesn't move. Instead, he skims his eyes along the line of students until he reaches Louis, and then stops.

"Louis." He says, his voice ever-so-slightly deeper than usual. "Come here."

Oh, he has _got_ to be kidding.

Louis can here Perrie begin to giggle softly behind him, can hear Jade joining in and Kevin’s stifled chuckle, and wonders whether he was the main focal point of their drinks conversation last night. Because it surely sounds like it.

Louis does as he's told though, comes to a stop at Harry’s side, and Harry meets him with a small smile, the height difference meaning Louis has to look up a little in order to look him in the eye.

"Yes?" He prompts, hoping to sound bored and impatient because what is Harry doing?

"Stand in front of me." He says, gesturing to where he wants Louis to stand.

Louis follows.

"Now, can you please prepare an _arabesque_ _en_ _l’air_ ," he asks, then extends an arm out in front of Louis face, fist clenched tightly and muscles of his forearm tensed, the tendons raised up under his skin with the strain. "You can hold onto my arm if you need support."

Louis almost scoffs, because _please_ , he doesn't need Harry’s _arm_. He can hold up an arabesque, thank you.

He unfolds his leg at the back as instructed, shifting his weight on his supporting leg a little until he's comfortable, and positions his arms up and out to help him balance.

"Now, you’re all extremely familiar with this lift, it's nothing new." Harry addresses the rest of the class. "And you are therefore all aware that you are to maintain an upright torso position as you hold it." He taps the base of Louis’ back as he explains. "As Louis here is demonstrating perfectly."

_Perfectly_. Why does that word sound like the sound a cat makes before it throws up? _Perfectly_. He's demonstrating it _perfectly_. Something in Louis’ stomach twists at the compliment, making him feel a bit like a pre-chunderous cat himself, actually.

"It's good, yes. However, this isn't what I'm showing you." Harry continues, then turns his head to address Louis. "Louis, could you please execute an _arabesque_ _penché_ from this position."

Louis stills.

It's not a question, therefore Harry must be expecting that Louis can even _do_ that. And it's not that he- It's just- He doesn’t-. He glances sideways through his vision, eyes settling on Zayn for a second, watching with calmly folded arms, then he presses his lips together before answering, his balance wobbling a little. "No, Monsieur. I can't."

Harry seems to bristle a little, but his reply comes out calmly. "Yes, you can."

Louis wants to drop his lift and turn so he can glare at him. Maybe hit him a bit. Why is he making him do this?

 

//

 

As soon as the words leave Louis’ lips, Harry has to fight his smirk. This reaction was fully expected, and Harry can't help but find it amusing. Also concerning - _because why would Louis want to hide his abilities like this?_ – but for now, he focuses on the amusement, on the moment at hand. "Yes, you can." He counters, and watches as Louis’ balance falters slightly for the second time.

"Monsieur, I’d rather I-"

"Okay." Harry cuts him off and moves to stand behind him. "The _arabesque_ _penché_ , everyone."

 

//

 

Louis frowns. He _just_ said he can’t do it, what is Harry-?

"Your elevated leg is to come up so that it falls in line with your supporting leg." He explains, stepping impossibly close to where Louis is still balancing-

\- and then his hands are on him.

One arm wraps firmly around Louis’ middle, pulling his side flush to Harry’s chest for support, and the other hand comes to lightly cup under his kneecap. "Like so," he begins, and slowly pushes Louis’ leg up, causing the arch of his back to curve deeper.

Louis grits his teeth.

And _fuck_. There’s no way out of this. They’re all going to know he can do it. They’re all going to know, because the _penché_ position isn’t just something you can be manually manoeuvred into like this, it takes practice, repetitive discipline to get your leg that high and remain that straight. And Harry knows that. So Harry must _know_ Louis can do it. But fucking _how_?

Louis’ weight shifts again on his supporting leg, causing Harry’s arm around his middle to tighten a little for more support. Louis swallows and furrows his brow in concentration, pointedly ignoring Perrie’s and Jades’ stifled laughter over his shoulder. He fixes his eyes on the opposite wall.

"Now, I’m supporting Louis a great deal here, but can you see how his legs create an almost-vertical line?" Harry asks the class. He must get confirmation in the form of silent nods, because Louis doesn’t hear anything, but Harry is sliding his hand up from his knee to his ankle, gripping tighter around it, and how the fuck can he even _reach_? "The ideal is to get it completely vertical, of course, but understandably that takes considerable training. Louis here is remarkably close to it, however." He continues, and Louis griamces at everything that's currently happening.

"And the elevated leg must remain locked – girls you will find that you are more likely to hold this position _en_ _pointe_ – and your arms would usually be outstretched in open opposition but- Louis is concentrating a bit too hard to do that at the minute, it seems." Harry chuckles, just once, low in his throat, and a few others join in. Louis is frowning, wondering what’s so funny, but then he realises, flushing white hot with embarrassment when he finds that he is subconsciously clutching onto Harry’s forearm around his middle, fingers digging in almost hard enough to bruise. Shit.

He rips his hands away and his balance falters, arched back twinging painfully. He wobbles, his leg suddenly feeling too high, like he’s about to topple forwards, but Harry’s grip on him tightens everywhere. "Careful." He soothes, and for an achingly long second, Louis thinks he detects an actual hint of gentle concern in Harry’s voice, but then he clears his throat and slowly lets Louis lower his leg, easing his back slowly out straight again. "Thank you, Louis. You may return to the barre."

Louis nods, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes, and returns to where he was stood beside Perrie – who promptly elbows him in the ribs with raised eyebrows. Louis mouths for her to fuck off, entirely sincere, but he’s rolling his eyes with it.

Okay then. So _learning_. Yes. Right.

 

　

***

 

　

"The _fuck_? He _held_ you? Man, ballet is gayer than I thought." Niall cackles, slinging a stray coat hanger over his shoulder. It clatters into the basket with the others.

Louis reaches over and smacks him hard on the arm. "Insulting." He snaps, then returns to unpacking the new delivery of trainers.

Niall just rubs his arm a few times as he sorts through the bin of spare hangers, still chuckling as he tries to find any that he can add to his growing collection.

They’re out in the storeroom. Sean’s manning the quiet tills tonight, and Louis and Niall have been instructed to unpack today’s deliveries and sort out enough coat hangers so that the latest delivery of t-shirts can be put out in time for tomorrow morning. Louis doesn’t understand the necessity of the urgency, but he’s not about to risk losing his job by being defiant. Not over this. Besides, being in the storeroom means it’s easier to rant to Niall. Less distractions.

"Niall- I don’t even know, I just- He’s suddenly started acting so _weird_. Like, he’s singling me out more? He never- It’s different." He frowns. " _He’s_ different. I think he’s testing me, but. I can’t figure out why." He reaches for another shoe box. "It’s not like I’ve _done_ anything. I do as I’m told, I’ve made sure not to get mouthy with him, which is-"

"Maybe he _wants_ you to get mouthy with him." Niall snorts, twirling a hanger on his finger and waggling his eyebrows. "If you get my drift." And, to quell any possibilities that Louis _hadn’t_ caught his drift, Niall winks and begins making a rather obscene gesture with one of the coat hangers.

Louis barks a loud laugh, then smacks him again, fighting off the clench of heat in his abdomen. Sure, Harry’s attractive, very, it would take a blind idiot not to see that, but Harry’s also kind of a pompous _dick_ , and Louis isn’t into that. Like, at _all_.

"Oh, you know I’m kidding, Tommo." Niall laughs. "Besides, I’m pretty certain it’d be the other way around anyway."

"What- You think he’d prefer to get mouthy himself?" Louis grins a bit, raising a single eyebrow. He’s not even sure why he’s humouring Niall and actually entering into this topic, to be honest. But they’ve started now, so, might as well.

"I dunno." Niall shrugs. "I mean, I’m not at _all_ experienced in the psychology of gay men - not that we know Harry even _is_ gay – but let’s just entertain the idea that he is, for the sake of this - I’d pin him as a giver. Meself." He nods along to his own explanation as he talks, and Louis is struck with the sudden contemplation that Niall isn’t even joking. Has he actually _thought_ about this? "Then again I s’pose there’s always the possibility of versatility-"

"Okay, we are _stopping_ this conversation right there, thank you." Louis shoves a flat hand in Niall’s direction. "No more."

Niall cackles, throwing his head back and chucking another hanger over his shoulder. It clatters behind him just like the previous. "M’just making polite conversation, mate."

"Well, choose a different topic." Louis mutters, feeling the twist in his gut burn a little stronger at Niall’s… _pinning_. A giver? _Harry_? Surely-

"Okay." Niall nods, quiet for a moment while he seems to be devising something new. Then he shifts his weight on his knees and throws another hanger behind him. "Here’s one. Different topic, as requested." He clears his throat dramatically. "Unpopular opinion," He begins, "You, while insisting on coming to complain to me every day after each session, actually secretly _enjoy_ Harry’s classes and just cover it up by pretending you hate the guy. Probably to cover your admiration for his talent because you’re too proud, more likely because you have a fucking great crush on him instead. Discuss." Niall raises his chin and flutters his lashes proudly.

Louis chokes on air, spluttering and coughing on nothing and Niall’s cackles are louder than ever. He blindly swats at the Irishman, aiming to smack him on the head this time but only catching his shoulder. "You bastard."

Niall just grins and clicks his tongue against his teeth.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's plan continues, but Louis has something to say about it. The surface intentions are revealed slightly, and Louis finds himself in a frustratingly confusing situation. If only fighting one's demons was as easy as a plié.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter in this apologetic update. 
> 
> Please refer to the key in the previous chapter's notes before asking about symbols. Thank you. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Okay that’s enough. _Enough_. Now Louis is _properly_ pissed off.

The following session had been yet another session where Harry singled Louis out, pulling him over to one side of the room and telling him to perform a _cabriole_ _grande_ , only for Louis to deny that he can, ending in Harry shooting him a slightly disapproving - _and was that disappointed too?_ \- look, and telling him, "Fine, I’ll help you, and we’ll perform it partnered instead. I know you can do this, Louis." Which, well. Louis shut up after that. Even more so when Harry’s large hands were firm on his waist, arms tensing as he lifted Louis into the air with ease so that he could execute the step, beat one leg off of the other in mid-air, arms unfurling from above his head as Harry supported his weight with no signs of difficulty whatsoever – which he _must_ have been faking because Louis is certainly not light. Small, yes. But he’s not light.

Now Louis is angry, confused and determined to get some answers. Only, he’s never actually visited a tutor’s office before. And does Harry even _have_ his own office?

"Yeah, he does." Perrie says when Louis casually asks her over the phone the next day, ignoring the hint of amusement in her voice as he crouches to pull his dance-wear out of the washing machine. It’s the weekend, and Louis is planning to visit Harry in his office first thing on Monday morning. That is, if he actually _has_ an office. Which now, thanks to Perrie, he’s found out he has. "It’s the little room upstairs, along the corridor from Studio 4, I think. That’s where he sent Aimee when she fell over during the _eschappés_ the other week, so she could fill out an injury form."

An injury form. Harry actually gets people to fill out the injury forms. _Amazing_.

"Okay." Louis stands and flops his washing into the basket on top of the machine. "Next to Studio 4. Got it. Thanks, love."

"No worries, hun." He can hear her smiling. "Promise me you won’t break his desk or anything though, yeah? I mean, I know he seemed to lift you quite easily yesterday, but that doesn’t mean you’re made of feathers. Careful with the furniture when he throws you on it."

Fucking fuck, she’s so bloody blunt. And now, instead of a smile, Louis can hear a smirk. He narrows his eyes, pursing his lips to stop them twisting into a grin when Perrie starts laughing.

"Shut the fuck up, Edwards." He mutters.

Perrie’s still laughing. "Oh, sorry. Did I get it wrong? Okay, be careful with the desk when _you_ throw _Harry_ on it. There. Better?"

Louis hangs up.

 

***

 

Knocking.

Knocking?

Is knocking the correct way of requesting entrance for this sort of thing? Or should he just storm in with a scowl? Would storming in with a scowl be better? Or would it backfire? Maybe he should just knock. But then, he doesn’t want to come across as a push-over. Because there’s no negotiating this, he’s talking to Harry and he’s talking to him now.

The loitering is definitely a stall tactic.

Before Louis can actually _make_ a decision though, the door in front of him swings open and his eyes re-focus on a bare chest. Oh _Jesus_ , if Perrie saw him right now he’d never hear the end of this.

"Louis, hi?" The bare chest sounds vaguely surprised, though makes no move to cover up. "Can I help you?"

Louis blinks his eyes shut, then looks up, then opens them again on Harry’s face, not even allowing himself the _option_ of maybe skating them up his bare torso. Nope. He’s here for serious business, now is not the time for… _felicities_. Fuck, did Louis just call Harry’s bare chest _art_? He needs to stop allowing himself time to think. And why the fuck is Harry topless in his office? Why would- Okay stop. Stop. Shut up now.

"Um, yes actually. Could I speak to your for a minute?" He asks, crossing his arms and shifting his weight onto one leg slightly. "It’s important." He waves a dismissive hand. "Class can wait."

Harry turns back to glance at a clock on his wall and pulls a face. "Um, it can’t _really_ , Louis. Won’t this wait ‘till later?" He meets Louis’ eyes again and raises both eyebrows, gaze dropping ever-so-briefly to Louis’ lips and back. But Louis probably imagined that.

"No." Louis lifts his chin, deciding that if he's going to address this issue properly from the start, he should do so as of right now. "It _really_ won’t."

Harry inhales deeply, eyes locked with Louis’ for a second, and then he steps to the side, gesturing for him to come in.

Louis does, hears the door close behind him and suddenly realises that he’s in Harry’s office. Why is he in Harry’s office? Oh fuck, what is he going to say? Why have all words other than "butterfly tattoo" suddenly left his head?

"So." Harry rounds his desk, having grabbed a loose-knit jumper from _somewhere_ , pulling it over his head as he takes a seat. "What’s so impatiently important?"

Louis narrows his eyes at that, certain that the ‘impatient’ part was aimed at him.

"It’s about the sessions." Louis begins, mouth working without his brain being completely sure what’s coming out of it. "Well, about me. In the sessions-. _You_. And me."

Harry wets his lips, leans back in his chair, but says nothing, just fiddles with the knitted sleeves of his jumper.

Louis waits, mouth pursed, eyes darting to the side as the silence drags on into long seconds. Is he going to say anything?

"I was hoping you’d come to talk to me about that, Louis." He finally says, and Louis can see the dark shapes of his tattoos between the holes in his knitted jumper. He swallows, eyes meeting Harry’s again and- what? He was _hoping_? What?

"I’ll admit, it’s taken longer than I’d imagined." Harry shifts to lean forward in his chair, elbows on his desk. "You’re more stubborn than I thought. I wasn’t originally expecting to have to go as far as the _cabriole_." His eyes are full of amusement and warmth and something else that Louis can’t pin down. "But thankfully, my perseverance paid off. Because here you are." He spreads his arms and leans back again, smiling wide enough for his dimple to pop in his cheek. Louis eyes are drawn to it.

"What does that mean?" He finally asks, talking more to the dimple than to Harry, frowning in vague confusion.

"It means," Harry begins, playing with the upturned sleeve of his jumper. "That I’ve been trying to get your attention for some time."

"My attention?" Louis asks, shaking a little for reasons he’s not quite sure of. Was Perrie right? _Does_ Harry have some sexual ulterior motives behind his favouritism? Now that he thinks about it, it doesn’t seem as abstract as Louis first thought... Shit. Surely not, though? He’s professional, he’s professionally- _trained_. Harry would never-

"I think it would be a wise decision, and certainly a greatly beneficial one, if you were to take a look into this." Harry slides a leaflet across the desk towards him.

Louis frowns, scrabbles to get purchase with his fingertips on the slippery paper against the varnished wood, and lifts it to his face.

"A… competition?" And strangely, something inside Louis deflates. He makes sure not to dwell on it.

"Yes." Harry nods, lacing his slender fingers together on the desk. "A competition. Held by the I.D.T.A in association with The Royal Ballet School, hence why it’s held every year here in London, at the Olympia."

"Yeah. I know it is."

 

//

 

"Yeah. I know it is." Louis says quietly, and Harry frowns a little, _why isn’t he more excited_?

He’s about to speak again, say something about the recognition it would earn Louis, the names and faces that would likely be there to watch him- but Louis is sliding the leaflet back across the desk, eyes low as he does.

"No thank you."

" _No thank you?_ " Harry repeats, utterly dumbfounded even as he takes the leaflet, fingers briefly brushing Louis’ as he does. "You don’t want to do it?"

Louis shakes his head, his voice is calm when he replies, clipped and short. "No."

Harry lifts the flyer, glancing at it, trying to find his answer printed in glossy ink but drawing up short. "Why not? You’re brilliant, Louis."

"Fucking- _please_ don’t say that." Louis winces, visibly shrinks, even as he stands above Harry’s head height. Something cold and familiar settles in Harry’s chest. He knows that look.

"Louis." It’s softer, laced with concern. "Look, I’m not going to force you into it. It was only ever a suggestion. But I’ve seen you dance, I know you can do this." He sucks in a breath. "Reckon you’d do quite well, actually. Which is why I’ve only mentioned it to you."

Louis' lips curl into a small, non-humourus smile. "So that there’s no chance of the others beating me?" He scoffs, obviously offended, his eyes find a spot on the wall beside him.

"That’s not what I meant and you know it." Harry sets him a look. "What I’m saying, Louis, is that I totally believe you’re _more_ than capable of doing really well in this." He pauses then, eyes back to his desk. "But sadly, having just witnessed this conversation alone, it appears I’m the only one of us who does."

He pauses, glances up and watches as Louis swallows self-consciously, shifting his weight on his feet and looking everywhere but at Harry.

"Give it a go. See how you feel?" He tries.

"I don’t like dancing competitively." Louis snaps, arms folded.

"That’s more because of a lack of confidence than a lack of ability." Harry counters, matter-of-factly. "How about I offer up a deal?"

Louis rolls his eyes, acting every bit like a bored, selfish teenager in the headmaster’s office.

"How about," Harry begins, sliding the leaflet back towards Louis again. "You say yes to this, I’ll sign you up online, sort out all the boring details myself so you don’t have to." He pauses. "And to make sure you feel more comfortable about it all, I’ll let you choreograph your routine." He says, then adds. "But I’ll still tutor you for it. We can come in on a Wednesday morning. Studio 5 is always free then, and I’ll spend a good hour or so with you and help you to see just how talented you are." He makes sure to finish with the best smile he can muster. Knows that it's important to do so.

There’s a beat of heavy silence, a tiny moment where Louis seems to be _maybe_ mulling it over, considering it, and Harry believes he might have made a breakthrough of some sorts. But then-

"I don’t really feel up to the class today, Monsieur Styles. I’ve got a headache." Louis says, and turns to head for the door.

Harry inhales deeply, feeling altogether worn out by this. But he’s determined, he needs to do this for Louis. He _needs_ to.

"Louis, wait!" He calls out, grabbing a post-it note from the wad on his desk and quickly scribbling down his phone number.

Louis stands with one hand on the door handle as Harry sticks the note to the competition leaflet and then jogs round his desk and over to him.

"At least… Take it away. Think about it?" He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for his answer with hopeful eyes and raised brows.

Louis drops his eyes to the offered flyer, Harry’s number scrawled messily on electric pink paper, and sighs.

He takes it, folds it in half and shoves it in the front pocket of his hoodie before swinging the door open and leaving without a word.

Harry’s smile pulls his lip from his teeth and something warm settles in his chest. He might just be able to do this after all.

 

 

***

 

 

Despite Harry’s slight progress in terms of getting Louis to take the leaflet home, the dancer still doesn’t turn up for class.

"Where’s Louis?" Harry hears Perrie call out, frowning as she scans the room for, presumably, his fluffy hair. Or something. "S’not like him to miss a session..."

Harry lets his smile tug at his lips as he sorts out the music system. She’s right, after all.

"He’s not feeling well today, Perrie. Came to see me shortly before the class to let me know. Headache, I think." He answers, strolling over to the front of the room with his remote in his hand.

He doesn’t miss the way Perrie’s eyes flash in slight surprise, then soften, her lips teasing toward a knowing smirk. He raises an eyebrow at her and she simply grins. Okay, odd.

But anyway. Teaching.

"Okay, everyone! Finish up stretching and spread out!"

 

 

***

 

 

Louis’ in the bath when his phone rings.

"Fuck. Fuckity fuck- _shit_." He sits up, reaching for where he left it on the edge of the sink counter, vibrating loudly against the porcelain, and curses when his fingers knock it further out of reach. He rises out of the water a bit, the cool air bringing goosebumps out on the skin of his thighs and hips as he does, but finally grabs the phone and swipes to answer the call before it rings off completely.

"Y’ello?" He lowers himself back into the bath again, closing his eyes in bliss as the warm water goes back to cradling and soothing his aching muscles. It’s like a caring mother, he briefly ponders, then remembers he’s on the phone and someone’s talking to him.

"Hi, love. It’s only me. Just thought I’d ring you and see how you’re doing." The pleasantly familiar voice of his _actual_ mother hums through the line and Louis relaxes even more. He does miss her quite a bit. Always been a Mummy’s boy, really.

"Hi, Mum. Yeah, I’m not bad. Achy, but that’s nothing new." He chuckles, absently twirling one finger through the bathwater above his chest. "You?"

"I’m good thanks, love." His mum answers warmly. "Maybe have a bath to soothe your aches? You always work yourself so hard. I’m proud of you, but don’t overdo it, love. I want you fit and healthy. Always, yes?" And Louis can’t help but beam, smiling to himself at his mother’s gentle jests.

"Thanks, Mum. I know, I’ll be careful." He mumbles, choosing not to mention that he currently _is_ in the bath, his nakedness need not go noticed by his mother, it’s just not necessary.

His grip tightens around his phone when he remembers where he is, though. Phone near water, Louis. Careful. "How’re the girls?"

"They’re fine, love. All good. They miss you "heaps and heaps", Phoebe says." And there’s soft noise in the background, high-pitched laughter and a squeal. Louis is suddenly struck by just how much he misses them all, misses home, and in this moment of lapse, he opens his mouth to ask his mum for some advice.

"Mum, I need your help with something." Louis begins, repeatedly lifting his free hand above the surface to watch as the water drips off his fingertips like five leaky taps in a row, the drops rippling the surface as they land.

"Anything, sweetie." And her voice is calming, encouraging.

"Um, it’s about the new tutor. Harry."

"The one they got in from Russia? What about him? Oh god, is he horribly strict and ugly?" She laughs down the line and Louis chuckles a bit too, actually.

"No, no. Far from it, he’s- Well, he wants me to do this competition." Louis bites his lip, listens as his mum hums to show she’s listening. "It’s this big one they do every year at the Olympia? Zayn usually represents Madam Charee, but Harry doesn’t know that. And-" He pauses, biting along the nail of a wrinkled thumb. "He wants to enter me in it."

"Oh, Louis! That’s brilliant! That’s so good, he must have seen something amazing in you, love! Which is no surprise, but I’m biased, of course." She laughs again, colourful and bright with it. "Oh, love. I’m so proud, really I am. He hasn’t even been teaching you for that long has he? You’ve caught his eye already!" She honestly does sound so, so proud. He can hear the smile in her words, the joy in her tone and the volume of her voice rings in his ears even after she’s finished speaking.

Louis winces at what he’s about to say.

"No, Mum. I don’t-" He sighs, the bathwater suddenly feels claustrophobic around him. "I’m not sure I’m going to do it."

There’s silence down the line, such a long stretch of it that Louis starts to wonder whether he’s been disconnected. But then he hears a soft rustle, the gentle closing of a door and squeaky bedsprings as his mother has obviously taken herself away from the noise of the house, alone in her bedroom so she can talk to him privately. Talk to him seriously. Louis chews on his lip.

"Honey," she begins, her tone gentle but not at all weak. "This is about your competition issues, isn’t it?"

Louis inhales deeply, chest expanding slightly slower than normal due to him being surrounded by water. "I suppose, yeah."

"And why _is_ that? Those competitions were years ago, Louis. Years and years. You were young, you were less experienced-"

"I was gay."

His mother sighs, and he can picture her closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. He continues-

"That’s what they shouted at me, Mum. That I was gay, and pathetic and _shit_ at all the dances." He swallows down the lump in his throat. "I don’t want to be in that environment again, I won’t do it."

"But Louis, love. That was different. They were rival dancers from rival schools. Of course they were going to try and pick on you-"

"And that makes it _right_?" Louis scoffs, extremely hurt by even the suggestion that his mother would try to support _them_.

"Of course it doesn’t, Louis. Don’t make this my fault." And her tone is firmer, voice sterner. "But what I’m saying is that _back then_ , you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you’d grow up to be, so you let those other children bully you into believing that you’d grow up to be nothing. That you’d never make it in dance. And-…"

"And what, Mum?" Louis prompts after a moment of sikence that crackles on for too long. "Say it." He asks, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes that he blinks away harshly.

She sighs down the phone and Louis steels himself for what she’s about to say.

"I hate to say this, love. But- I think, unfortunately, what those children made you believe… It’s still here. You still believe it, even despite all the great things you’ve achieved, I mean- You’re in a London Ballet School, Louis! You’ve already achieved far more than those idiotic twerps from your childhood will have done. Yes, you’re gay, so they got that bit right. Good. It’s who you are. I wouldn’t want to change that for the world. But you’re _not_ pathetic, you’re _not_ shit and you deserve for other people to recognise that too." She streses, then adds, "Harry’s obviously already recognised it."

Louis blinks, the tears he was so desperately trying to hold back escape down his cheeks, dripping from his jaw and landing in the bath. The mention of Harry’s name makes him inhale shakily, makes him try and ignore his crying. He doesn’t want his mum to know he’s crying about this. This is so frustratingly confusing so _quickly_.

"Don’t you see Louis? He’s only been teaching you for a month and already he wants to single you out and push you further. He wants to enter you in this competition because he obviously believes in you, Louis. And I believe in you too, love. Always have and always will. But, unfortunately, I can’t push you up onstage from all the way over here in Donny!" She laughs. "So I’m gonna have to let the Russian ballet teacher do it."

Louis chuckles too, though his throat is still clogged from crying silently and it aches. "He’s not actually Russian, Mum. He just trained there."

"Wherever he came from, I don’t care. It could be Mars. All I know, is that he’s seen something in my little boy that he wants to show to the dancing world. And that is the best thing I’ve heard in a long, long time. Oh, I’m so proud of you, love. Please give this competition some more thought? If anything, it’ll be an excuse for me to come and see you!" She laughs, light and airy, and it anchors something in Louis. He nods to no one, rising up out of the bath and pinching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he wraps a towel around himself.

"Okay." He nods again. "I promise, Mum."

"Good." She’s smiling again, he can hear it.

"Thank you." He adds quietly after a second or two.

"You’re most welcome, love. Always. Now go and get in the bath before your limbs drop off and this whole conversation was for nothing!" She chuckles down the line and Louis chuckles too. He hums into the comfortable silence, the familiarity of the moment settling pleasantly in his chest. He’s reminded of when he used to talk to his mum about things like this all the time, of when she’d hug him to her side and press her cheek into his hair and squeeze him tight. He misses that.

"Okay."

"Okay." She repeats softly after a second. "Goodbye, love."

"Bye, Mum."

He presses to hang up and reaches to pull the plug on the bath.

Once changed into the pyjama trousers that he’d left folded on the toilet lid, hair damp and ruffled from towelling it, he brushes his teeth, grabs his phone and pads through to the bedroom as the last dregs of water from the bath gurgle down the plughole noisily.

Speaking to his mum has helped clear his head. And as his eyes fall on the leaflet poking out of the pocket of his hoodie where it hangs over the back of his chair, he bites the inside of cheek and lifts his phone in his hand, grabbing the leaflet with the other.

After typing the correct number into the recipient box, he taps out one, four-sentenced text.

_Okay. I’ll do it. Studio 5 on Wednesday. Don’t let me start to regret this._

 

 

***

 

 

It’s about 11pm and Louis is dozing in bed, laptop perched haphazardly across his lap, when his phone chimes with a reply.

**_This is Louis, I presume? Excellent. I’m so glad you’ve decided to do this, Louis. Honestly, I promise to make it worth your while. You just have to trust me._ **

Louis rolls his eyes a little, can practically hear Harry’s low rumble as he sounds the words "worth your while". But he replies anyway.

_Well, like I said, don’t let me begin to regret it. And just so you know, it wasn’t you who persuaded me, it was my mother. Before you start going and getting a big head over it._

And okay, maybe it’s a bit late to be texting. Especially when he’s so tired. There’s a very high chance he’s just insulted his tutor.

But maybe not, because Harry’s reply is quicker.

**_Then your mother is a wonderful lady. And you can tell her I said that._ **

Is this-? Is he-? Okay, it really must be late because for a second there Louis caught a hint of playfulness in Harry’s text, and there’s no way that would ever be true. Harry is certainly not playful. _Is he?_ No. _Why are you even questioning this_? Shut up.

_I may well do. But only if you stick to your word and give me reason to trust you. If I start to regret this you’re a goner. My mother doesn’t do well with people who upset her children, believe me._

The reply comes seconds later.

**_I didn’t let you fall from your arabesque penché, did I? And did I drop you out of the cabriole grande? No. Therefore we have proven that you can trust me in circumstances that you feel unsure about. You can trust me, Louis. Now sleep. If you’re tired during our session on Wednesday I’ll never let you hear the end of it. You do like rigorous eschappé battu routines don’t you? ;)_ **

And Jesus _fuck_ , that whole text was one massive pick-up line. Kind of. A _winky_ face? Christ.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and chucks his phone onto his chair so he can rub his hands over his face.

He really must be tired.

He lets the stars and shapes of colour behind his eyelids dissolve into inky black nothingness before dropping the heels of his hands from his eye sockets and turning over to get comfortable, ignoring the uneasiness curling in the pit of his gut.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Louis' private solo dance sessions with Monsieur Styles begin. Though they're not off to a good start... Harry clearly has deeper intentions for Louis' dance ability, though maybe, in order to get the rest of the world to see how good the mouthy dancer actually is, the mouthy dancer needs to see it for himself first? Oh. That makes sense. Luckily, Harry is good at working various angles. Louis gets a bit swept up in the crossfire.

Louis hasn’t had private sessions in a while. And thus, he’s forgotten just how _awkward_ they can be. Especially after Harry may-or-may-not have flirted with him through text just two nights prior.

_Especially-_ especially after Harry may-or-may-not have flirted with him through text two nights prior, and is now stretching in front of him wearing a tight spandex leotard and loose, low-slung joggers. _Not_ rolled up to the knee like a twat.

_Christ,_ this is going to be a long hour.

They’re warming up and stretching at the barre in complete silence.

Louis supposes that Harry is simply sticking to the routine he always does during warm-ups, and is letting Louis construct his own just like the students always do on Monday and Friday sessions, without the need for Harry’s input.

And that’s completely fine and dandy. Except Louis’ never seen _Harry_ warm up and stretch before. And now, as the taller man bends in the middle to slowly sweep a controlled arm down the length of a _dégagé’_ d leg, conveniently-inconveniently with his back – or rather arse – towards Louis, Louis kind of wishes he never had. Because it’s beginning to conjure up all sorts of images in his mind that A) wouldn’t be wise to succumb to while wearing extremely revealing ballet tights, and B) shouldn’t even be _happening_ because Louis can’t afford to think like that about Harry. Not only is he his tutor, he’s also the _exact_ type of dancer Louis has always despised, not to mention a _gigantic_ pain in the-

"Okay." Harry says, effectively scattering Louis’ train of the thought to the wind. He turns to face him, rolls his shoulders a couple of times and Louis tries not to look at how his biceps bulge a little as he does. "So, I’m thinking we stick with the routine you’ve already created? And then I can just-"

"I’m sorry, what?" Louis interrupts him, Studio 5 suddenly seeming a lot smaller around them, all attention from Harry’s biceps diverted to his face instead. "The routine I’ve already _created_?"

Harry freezes, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he shifts his weight and regards Louis with a warm smile, one hand resting casually on the wooden barre. "Yes." He nods once. "The one you’ve choreographed to 'Take Me To Church'."

"The one I've- How-? _What_?" Louis pauses, ice settling under his skin. He clenches and unclenches his jaw behind closed lips, then continues, slightly calmer and forcibly controlled. "Who told you I’ve got a routine to 'Take Me To Church'?"

Harry wets his lips. "Um… My eyes?"

Louis' own eyes form narrow slits. "Your _eyes_?"

"I saw."

"You _saw_?!"

"I did."

_What_? "Well, when?"

"The other week…?"

But. "But- where?"

"Downstairs."

" _Downstairs_?"

"Studio 1."

Oh fuck. "You _saw_?"

"I saw."

And with that, Harry simply nods again.

Louis inhales deeply, avoiding Harry’s eyes and starting to feel a little more than angry at this whole thing. His choreography is _private._   _Was_ private, rather. The _one_ headspace where he’s totally relaxed and happy. _Himself_. And Harry now announces that he’d _seen_ him the other night? The night when that _very_ stress he’d been working off through the use of that choreography was stress caused by _Harry_ himself?! And he didn’t think to mention it until _now_?!

"Why didn’t you say anything." Louis bites, giving the question no inflection whatsoever.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t think-"

" _Clearly_." Louis scoffs.

And Harry finally looks the tiniest bit guilty. He lifts his hand and makes to step forward a bit.

"Louis. Look, I realise choreography is a personal thing, a private thing, and I felt _bad_ for watching you, I _did_ , but- Watching you made me- It showed me that you’re _so_ much better than you let on."

Realisation dawns on Louis then, cold and hard in his gut.

But Harry continues, "Why do you hide it, Louis? Why _do_ that? Why not show everyone how good you are? What’s the use in-"

"That’s how you knew, isn’t it?" Louis finally spits out, relishing in the way Harry’s face drops. "How you knew I could do _arabesque_ _penchés_ and _cabriole_ _grandes_." He snaps, throwing Harry back the very words he’d flirted with on Monday night. "That’s why you kept pulling me up in front of everyone." His throat aches, heavy with emotion, and he clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking. "Do you know how much I _hate_ that?" He says, confidently but quietly."Hate having everyone judging me like that? I _don’t_ \- I’ve never-" He pauses, willing himself not to rage over this. He clenches his fists tighter, blunt fingerbails digging into his palms, and meets Harry’s eyes again, voice softer this time, but coldly so. "You fucking promised."

And he turns towards the door.

"Louis!" Harry calls, rushing after him and catching his arm just as he reaches for the handle. He grips him tightly, turning him to look him in the eye with all the desperation Louis’ ever seen in a person. It throws him a little bit, to see Harry so… _open_. "I’m sorry I spied on you the other night, and I’m sorry I kept pulling you up in front of everyone. I realise that it might have been putting you out of your comfort zone-"

Louis scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"- but don’t you see why I needed to _do_ that? I needed you to see that I’d _noticed_." Harry doesn’t let go of Louis’ arm, in fact, he's shaking it with every other word, jolting it in his grip in a display of desperation that matches the pleas in his eyes. "I’d noticed something different in you and I wanted to _show you off_. Because-well..." And he stops, his grip remaining on Louis' arm, but with eyes slightly softer than before. His voice comes out serious and kind of... sad? Then he says something that hits Louis hard, right where his gut is currently coiling uneasily. 

"It was more than apparent that you weren’t going to do that for yourself."

Louis ignores the twist in his chest at Harry wanting to "show him off", and instead clenches his jaw before speaking, "Is that what this competition is then? _Showing me off_? Showing the _ballet world_ what you can do now you’re back from training in _fucking Russia_?" He snaps, eyes burning into Harry’s coldly. He rips his arm from Harry’s grip with a humourless laugh. "Well, good luck with that, mate. 'Cos there's no way I'm gonna do it."

"Louis please." Harry begs, voice softer than Louis’ ever heard it. "Okay, so it was wrong of me to watch you when you thought you were alone. I admit to that. But look where it’s gotten us." He opens his arm to the room around them. "You’re going to be able to show those judges, this society, your peers, your _family_ , just how brilliant you _are_." He studies Louis’ face. "Please. It was wrong of me to watch you the other night, yes. But now that we’re here, with this space available to us, alone…" He pauses, reaching out a hand to wrap his fingers around Louis’ slender wrist. "Show me properly? Do the routine again. So I can watch with consent this time. Show me it again, Louis." He presses gently. "Please."

Louis swallows, both at Harry’s gentle words and Harry’s annoyingly gentle touch. And after a few seconds of studying Harry’s desperate eyes, he gives in, and nods. "Okay."

 

***

 

"Sooooo, how did it go?" Niall sidles up to Louis where he leans against the bar, hip-checking him with a grin.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly and takes his glass away from his lips again. "It went fine. I showed him my dance and he’s gonna help me improve it for the competition. Are we done talking about this now?"

Niall pouts. "We only just started."

Louis shakes his head and continues tapping his fingertips against the side of his glass. Truth be told, he’s happy. Happier than he _was_ , at least. His private session with Harry ended up turning out more positive than how it had started, definitely. He’d shown Harry his full routine, trying his best to not slip up and make mistakes, discussed parts that he wasn’t sure on or wasn’t happy with, and Harry had nodded along, offered suggestions and complimented him _way_ too much. Louis was still getting used to the compliments. He now remembers that private lessons often come with a lot of those. Having the sole attention of one teacher means you’re all they _fucking_ talk about, and it drives Louis insane. And to be honest, despite how well the lesson might have gone, Louis really doesn’t want to think about it right now. Wants a few hours where Harry is nowhere near his headspace, thank you.

"Come on then, mate. We’ll drop it for tonight." Niall elbows him and calls to get the attention of the bartender.

Good. Niall is a good friend.

"Let’s go find Liam, yeah? I think he’s bringing Sophia tonight." The blonde continues, grinning and flexing his fingers to crack his knuckles. "Time to embarrass the poor sod, _methinks_." He cackles. "Think you can do that?"

Louis laughs and nods with crinkling eyes, lifting his beer to his mouth.

He can _definitely_ do that.

 

***

 

"And, oh god S'phia, w'never _told_ you!" Niall laughs through an inhale that makes him sound a bit like a goat.

It's chilly outside and Louis kind of just wants to get home now. His shoes are hurting his feet and he's alread got enough blisters from dancing all morning. But Niall seems to be going off on one with no intent to stop.

"Can’t believe we never told her, Tommo!" The blonde idiot elbows Louis in the ribs a little too hard and Louis grimaces, shoving his hands in his pockets to shield them from the bitingly-cold night air. "Okay, so we were camping, somewhere near- uh, I think it was in Dorset but I can’t rem'mber. Anyway, s'not _important_ \- and Liam decided the best way to make sure we-"

"Alright, thanks Nialler, I think we’re done for tonight!" Liam suddenly cuts him off by throwing his arm around Sophia’s shoulders and guiding her slightly away from the Irishman. "We’re gonna head home." He adds, more to Louis than Niall, who is still cackling loudly at whatever story he was about to tell Sophia. Louis doesn’t even know, can’t even remember _going_ camping. But then, his mind is slightly fogged with alcohol right now, so.

He nods back to let Liam know that it’s fine. "I’ll get this twat home, don’t worry. Have a nice night." He smiles, slinging an arm through Niall’s, who stumbles a bit against his side.

"Cheers, Tommo. I’ll see you later. And thanks for finally giving me my keys back, you pillock." But he’s grinning, and Sophia is laughing lightly.

"Bye, Louis. Good luck with him." She smiles, nodding in Niall’s direction. He’s now tipping his head back, open-mouthed, frowning and pointing up at the night sky.

"Will do. Thanks Soph." He hoists Niall’s weight a bit more securely against him. "See ya."

With one last departing wave, Liam and Sophia disappear off towards the main road, and Niall has started rambling about stars.

All in all, it was a good night, Louis thinks. And Harry didn’t even enter his mind once. So there.

 

***

 

Thursday is Louis’ day off, and it’s just as well really, because his head feels vaguely like someone has torn it to pieces and tried to put it back together again like shitty papier-mâché. _Fuuuck_.

He didn’t even _drink_ that much, what?

"Urggh…"

Oh. Niall? Niall is next to him, which means Niall spent the night at his? Or he went back to Niall’s? He doesn't remember-

"Turn off the _sun_ , Lewis." Niall grumbles, throat sounding completely wrecked as he grunts into his pillow.

"Fuck off, Neil." He wants to swat him on the shoulder, but judging by how fucked _Louis’_ feeling and knowing that Niall was _definitely_ worse than him last night, he decides against it. Instead, he frowns. "Did we drink more when we got back here last night?"

Niall groans, long and loud, clearly completely averse to engaging in conversation of any kind and this time Louis does swat him.

"Oi. I feel like shit too, the least you can do is feel like shit _with_ me, instead of dribbling all over my fucking pillows." He yanks one out from beneath Niall’s head and the blonde flounces, actually _flounces_ , throwing his body in the air like a beached fish, beating his arms against the mattress and flopping angrily until he’s on his back, where he huffs once, head turned to glare at Louis with extremely glassy and bloodshot eyes. Okay, so he's particularly _not_ cooperative this morning.

"I take that as a yes to my question about drinking." Louis drops the pillow over Niall’s disgruntled expression and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Why the fuck did I agree to that."

"You didn’t." Niall mutters from behind him, voice slightly muffled by the pillow that he’s clearly too hung-over to bother removing. "I _made_ you drink more. Wouldn’t shut up about Harry _Fucking_ Styles."

Louis blanches, head way too painful for this right now. "I- What?"

Niall sighs, grabbing the pillow and lazily smacking Louis over the back of the head with it. "You kept going on about how equally _aggravating_ and _attractive_ he is. And that he _confuses_ you." Niall grunts with effort as he starts to sit himself up. "And that you want to, and I quote," he begins, " _kiss his stupid stuck-up mouth and then glue his lips together so I never have to listen to him again_ "."

Niall’s impression of Louis is half-arsed at best. Louis’ voice is _not_ that squeaky, thank you. But what? Kiss? _Glue_? Jesus.

Louis rolls his eyes forcefully, wincing when it causes his head to throb painfully, pushing down the stirrings of embarrassment in his stomach and putting on a dismissive tone instead. "There’s no way you remember me saying that, you were completely twat-faced, mate." He stands up from the bed. "You’re making this up."

"Oh, I fuckin' wish I was." Niall flops back to lay down again, groaning dramatically. "You wouldn’t shut up so I forced tequila down your neck, which worked. You started ramblin' shit in French after that so I blocked ya out." He waves a flippant hand, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes, mumbling into the mattress. "Urgh, me _fuckin_ ’ head."

Louis twists the waistband of his joggers on his hips so they sit more comfortably, and grimaces when his head pounds again. "Mine too. Gonna get some painkillers."

"Grab me some paracetamol, Lewis!" Niall wails as Louis steps out into the hall. Louis rolls his eyes for real that time, but it sends another jab of pain behind his forehead and he winces again.

He returns with the painkillers to find the Irishman fast asleep.

 

***

 

Louis will never know how Niall can remember so much when he’s been shitfaced beyond belief, but he wishes he _couldn’t_ remember so much when he’s shitfaced beyond belief. Because Niall doesn’t drop it for _days_. And it’s Wednesday morning when he kicks it up a notch.

"Have fun today, Tommo. Private lesson with _Styles_." He’s grinning through the phone as Louis sits on the bus, waiting for an old couple to get on so they can finally leave the bus stop.

Niall’s voice is laced with mirth as he speaks. "Don’t do anything _I_ wouldn’t do." He pauses, then Louis can hear him smirk when he adds, "And don’t do anything you secretly _want_ to do."

And if Louis uses the last of the souring milk in Niall’s tea during their Vans shift that afternoon, Niall only deserves it.

 

***

 

Wednesdays quickly become Louis’ sole focus. The fitness sessions on Monday go unchanged, though they’re gradually getting more bearable and Harry tells them all that this is because their stamina is improving week on week, which he also adds that he’s impressed by.

Friday all-day sessions continue to be cases where Harry teaches them a new step or elevation, then sets them routines including them. Sometimes, he lets them set their own routines and Louis can’t help but wonder whether that’s an alteration Harry makes for him. It certainly seems that way when Harry meets his eyes and smiles warmly. Louis returns it only slightly, making sure not to dwell too much on the stirrings in his chest. He will absolutely not develop a crush on the guy. No. It will only anger him every time he’s reminded of how egotistical he is. Which, to be honest, isn’t all that often anymore. But still. No. Nope.

"You know what, I really like that." Harry says one Wednesday, leaning against the barre with one leg crossed over the other at the ankle as Louis rehearses his routine. He points at Louis after he executes a soft triplet, dropping one shoulder so to seem weak as he dances. It’s all part of the character to the piece, something Louis seriously loves emphasising.

Harry’s words make him stop and look at him.

"Yeah?" He meets Harry’s eyes, chest heaving with heavy breaths from the exertion of the routine. His tongue sneaks out to wet his dry lips sub-consciously. "You do? I wasn’t really sure about it." Which is a lie. A solid gold, bitter-tasting _lie_ , Louis.

"Mm, it works well after the leap." Harry shifts to cross the other leg instead. "Like a contrast. It’s impressive that you recognised the opportunity for a dynamic shift there, actually. It’s quite subtle in the music."

And it’s so many compliments in one. Like, triple-fold compliments. Too many. And Louis screws his eyes shut, regretting having ever fished for one at all.

"But carry on, I didn’t say you could stop." Harry’s tone is firmer. And Louis is grateful for him putting an end to the compliments, but really, he could’ve chosen better phrasing. That- Well. Whatever. Louis makes sure not to let himself picture anything too much, launching into a _balloné_ _composé_ that turns him away from Harry instead.

Harry just clears his throat a little behind him.

After Louis has finished running the routine another time after that, Harry points him over to a spot on the floor where he wants to address a certain step.

"You know the bit over here, where you do the _pas de basque sauté_ then into the triplet for the _grand_ _jeté?_ " He waits for Louis’ nod. "You could easily get a much higher elevation in your _jeté_ if you didn’t take your _pas de basque_ so wide. Keep your energy for the run, and then when you get there-" Harry pauses, moving back a bit in the space and taking the short run, leaping up into the air and executing a beautiful _grand_ _jeté_ , legs split one forward, one back, so far and so high that they actually extend further than the horizontal line that’s expected of the step.

Louis is awestruck. Which is totally a lie, he's not. Loads of people can do that. Shut up.

"See?" Harry tilts his head to the side, smiling, loose curls tumbling against his shoulder. Louis can’t work out whether he’s purposely showing off or not, so he only nods. Harry continues, "Do you want my help for your first one? I’ll lift you. Show you the height you should be aiming for?"

Louis nods again, deciding that the best thing is to just be polite. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

Harry executes the _pas de basque_ with him, pointing out when to keep it smaller so that the triplet for the _jeté_ can give him more momentum. Then they do it again, this time with Harry dancing slightly behind Louis so he’s ready in time for Louis to launch into the leap, hands easily finding his little waist and hoisting him up higher. It’s not unusual for this step to be done as a pair, but it still takes Louis by surprise when he’s able to reach a greater height this time, legs splitting front and back as Harry takes his weight for him, carries him through the air and then lowers him to the ground with ease.

"There." He smiles at him afterwards, not even breathless. "See?"

Louis can’t help but smile back. He nods. "Yeah, yep."

"Good." Harry grins. "Now the whole thing one more time and I’ll let you go." He flashes a grin and turns to grab the remote from the chair in the corner.

Louis bites the inside of his cheek.

 

***

 

It’s during their Friday session two days later when Madam Charee appears by the door to Studio 1.

After a hand signal to Harry to let him know, Louis averts his eyes, wishing he could be nosey but knowing he probably shouldn’t watch them converse. Employer and employee, and all that.

Except, after only a few seconds, Harry is trying to grab his attention, and Perrie nudges him in the side.

"What?" He frowns at her. "Why did you-"

"Louis!" Harry calls across the room and Louis’ head immediately snaps to him, causing Perrie to crease into snickers as she goes back to _rond_ _de_ _jambe_ ’s at the barre.

Harry jerks his head in a ‘ _come_ _here’_ motion when Louis meets his eyes and Louis’ gaze flicks between Harry and Madam Charee as he obediently makes his way over.

"Master Tomlinson." Madam smiles gently at him once he comes to a stop at Harry’s side.

"Madam Charee, hi." He nods once, smiling back, folding his arms behind himself and only just noticing how closely he’s standing to Harry. He subtly steps away a bit.

"I wish to speak to both of you in private. _Very_ important." She says, looking more at Harry than Louis now. Well, he is the tutor, Louis supposes. "Nothing bad. Not at all." She assures them both, smiling warmly, eyes glittering. "If you could just spare a few moments, ‘arry?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Definitely. I’ll just-" He points to the class and steps back a bit, lifting his head to shout.

Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry’s stammering. That’s certainly not like him. How interesting.

"Okay, guys! I’ll only be a moment outside. Keep working hard!" He flashes them a charming grin and then turns back to Madam Charee, eyes flicking to meet Louis’ a second. "I’m all yours."

Louis disguises his choked inhale with a series of coughs, shaking his head to Madam Charee with an apologetic frown. "Sorry."

When he looks back to Harry again, the curly-haired dancer has raised a single, amused eyebrow, but says nothing.

Madam Charee simply smiles and leads them out of the studio and into the corridor.

"Now, usually, I’d prefer a more… _formal_ setting for this kind of… conversation." She begins, meeting both of their eyes alternatively. "But I understand ‘arry, you are busy teaching and Louis, you are busy learning, so…" She smiles again, and Louis begins to wonder if this is something serious. After a few seconds of heavy silence, and a glance to Harry and back, Louis’ feels the familiar weight of negativity settle in his stomach.

"I wish to ask you both to take on the roles of the two principal _danseurs_ in this year’s production." She says after a beat, eyes shimmering with joy and confidence, accent thick, as always. "We’ll be doing Swan Lake and, ‘aving seen you both together in your private sessions - not that you know I've _been_ watching" she giggles, "I think it will work very well if you were partners in this piece. It is one of the best ballet partnerships I ‘ave ever known, and I would simply _love_ it if you both were to accept."

Neither of them speak. Madam Charee simply smiles, waiting patiently, coral-coloured lips stretched thin across her too-white teeth.

Louis’ about to say no. About to politely decline, even though the shock of actually being _considered_ for such a role is making him slightly dizzy. He can’t accept. He won’t accept.

"We accept." Harry grins, dimple popping in his cheek, a hand coming to rest lightly at the small of Louis’ back. Which, odd. "Of course, we accept. Thank you so much for asking us, Madam." He bows his head a little and Madam Charee all but preens in delight at his politeness.

"Excellent!" She claps her hands, grinning at them both. "Obviously you will still need to teach the others ‘arry, all the group routines for the production etcetera. But I ‘ave every confidence that you can do both. You are a star." She beams, looking about two seconds away from pinching his cheeks like a grandmother, before waving with dainty fingers and disappearing in the direction of her office.

It takes exactly three seconds before-

"What the _fuck_ was that."

Harry calmly turns and regards Louis’ hard expression for a second, eyes flicking to his lips and back again - and _why does he keep doing that_? – before he replies, looking completely neutral and altogether pleased with himself at the same time. "That was me pushing you."

Louis scoffs loudly. "Too right."

Harry doesn’t make a move to go back into the studio, even though his hand is raised ready to push the door. "You don’t think I should be pushing you?" He raises a single eyebrow. "Because I really think I should." He holds Louis’ gaze then, heavy and charged. Intense as he blinks. Sincerity burning behind green irises. He smirks, just a tad. "And I’m going to, Louis." He adds, cheerily, still smiling. His tone implying that Louis has absolutely no choice. Like being invited onto the dancefloor at a family wedding by your Great Aunt Maud and having no way out of it.

"I’m going to push you until you start pushing _back_." Harry catches Louis’ eyes more firmly, everything about his gaze screaming that he has every intention to do just that. Push until Louis has no choice but to either push back, or get pushed over the edge.

And fuck. Okay. Louis is suddenly very aware of Harry’s touch on his back.

He swallows and Harry smiles, finally dropping his hand from Louis and placing it beside the other one on the studio door. "I’ll see you back in there."

And after yet another flash of a grin, he’s vanished back into the studio again, leaving Louis with fists clenched so hard his nails are almost cutting into his palms this time.

He fucking hates him.

 

***

 

"Well he should stop fucking pushing me, I don’t want it!" Louis snaps. "I don’t _need_ it!" He shouts, angrily pushing t-shirts around on their displays like a petulant child.

"He seems to think you do." Niall counters, following Louis around the store and straightening all the t-shirts he knocks out of place. "And you know, he _is_ -"

" _Professionally-trained_ , I know." Louis spits, grumbling under his breath when he reaches the end of a display and runs out of t-shirts to shove at. He whips round to face the blonde. "I just wish he’d leave me the fuck _alone_. He keeps doing these _things_ that- He like- It's like he _cares_ about whether _I_ \- And that doesn't matter! That's _never_ mattered! I'm _fine_ just being where I am and- _Zayn_ usually gets all the- _argh_! Fucking hell, Niall, I'm seething." Louis heaves. "I just want him to fuck off now. I'm done with it. I want him to leave me alone."

"No you don’t." Niall quips from beside him. Louis hadn't realised he'd begun pacing.

He doesn’t bother replying. Doesn’t need to. Niall will only come up with more ways to mock or tease him, no matter what he comes back with.

Instead, he groans, " _Fuck_ , Niall. I don’t know what to do. Once Swan Lake rehearsals start we’ll be in the studio _four_ days a week. That’s _more_ time I have to spend around the bastard. He’s so fucking _confusing_ \- I don’t- I just- He- _Ugh_!" He shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans, long and loud.

Niall pats him on the shoulder. "Just try and flow with it mate. You never know, if you actually succumb to his… "pushing"… he might leave it be a bit?"

Louis shakes his head. "He wants me to push back, Niall."

"Oh! _Well_ …" Niall chuckles. "If he wants you to push _back_ -"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Louis shrugs his arm off and turns away from him, stares at a rack of t-shirts with graffiti designs on them until the colours blur and blend and he has to blink hard.

There’s a few beats of silence and then Louis sighs, hands lifting to rub his eyes momentarily before deciding against it and dropping them again.

"Fuck..." He breathes, dropping his head back in defeat. "I’m gonna have to start pushing back aren’t I?"

Niall pats him again, clearly grinning. "That’s me boy."


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's dance without a bit of drama, eh?

"And one, two, three, _shassé_ two, three, over two three, rise – good, keep going Holly – turn, and lift, three _piqués_ , one, two, three – keep that foot pointed there, Louis, good – _eschappé_ _relevé_ , _passé_ through, and finish. Good."

The music goes off, the room settles in silence.

"Okay, gather round folks." Harry beckons everyone over. "You can sit." He gestures, smiling pleasantly and pulling a chair up for himself as everyone slowly sinks to the floor one by one. Because, no. Harry doesn’t let them sit often. Like, ever, really. So this is strange.

"So then. As you are aware, you have your annual production coming up in February. That means we have a little over three months to prepare, produce and perfect it." He pulls one leg up onto the other, ankle resting on his knee as he grabs his ballet shoes and slips one on as he talks. "So, the sooner we start the better." He swaps his feet to pull the other shoe on. "All of you are going to be in it, as usual." He continues. "And roles will be assigned by Madam Charee and myself."

"All of the roles?" Kevin asks.

"Well, all besides the two principals, yes." Harry answers, and Louis feels his gut twist _. Because the two principals have already been assigned,_ he adds for him. "Madam Charee feels it will be better if she assigns those on her own, as she knows you all a lot better than I do."

"That’s Zayn sorted then." Someone mutters, and upon glancing to Zayn to watch for his reaction, Louis notices the briefest flash of hurt cross his features. Something unpleasant settles in Louis' chest.

Harry doesn’t seem to hear the comment, and continues. "But other than, that. Yes. Madam and I will be sorting out who gets what."

"It’s Swan Lake, isn’t it?" Louis pipes up, attempting to prove himself as oblivious as possible to the fact that he knows he’s already got one of the aforementioned principal roles. While the excitement bubbles faintly in his chest, it is vastly overtaken by nerves, guilt and something bitter that grows worse whenever he glances at Zayn. He doesn’t like it, and figures that the longer he remains innocently unaware, the better. The last thing he needs is people calling him out at being subject to favouritism. Which isn’t even true anyway. So.

Harry meets Louis’ eyes, blinking in the slightest hint of confusion for a second, before he nods. "Yes. A beautiful adaptation by Matthew Bourne, where both the main characters are played by males. It’s definitely something a bit different, and I’m pleased Madam selected it, as we’re lucky to have some extremely talented male dancers in this school." And his eyes don’t leave Louis’ for a single second as he speaks.

Louis just nods awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. "Okay. Uh- Sounds good."

Perrie snorts beside him and Jade elbows her to shut her up, though she’s smiling too. Louis feels his stomach flip nastily. _It’s already beginning_.

"So that’ll be Zayn and Louis then, yeah?" Perrie quips once she’s finished laughing long enough to speak. "The Swan and The Prince?"

Harry finally looks away from Louis, eyes meeting Perrie’s instead and he smiles, though it seems a little forced. "Maybe. But I’m not about to disclose anything before Madam has made her decisions."

Louis wants to laugh. Madam’s already _made_ her decisions, and it’s certainly not Zayn and Louis, is it? Louis starts to wonder whether Harry’s reluctance to reveal whose got the two principals stems more from a personal root than an ethical one. After all, it wouldn’t look good for him either if he were to come across as having picked favourites. Then again, Madam Charee was the one who did the picking, so Harry isn’t even in the firing line here. Louis frowns, figuring that there must be more to it then. But what? Christ. This guy gets more infuriatingly confusing every day.

"For now, we’re going to start on the first of the group numbers, and we can swap people around as and when they learn who they’ll be playing." Harry stands then, and everyone gradually follows suit. "Louis and Zayn, despite Perrie’s assumptions, you will both still learn this routine." He sets them both a look and then claps his hands. "Okay! Spread out for me then guys!"

 

***

 

"So, you don’t think people will find it weird?" Louis asks during their next Wednesday session. Harry’s arms are wrapped firmly around his middle as he helps him lean into an _arabesque_ _penché_ that he will eventually figure out how to _pirouette_ out of. It’s a step Harry constructed himself, and Louis isn’t entirely sure it’s even _possible_. And this doubt it what he focuses on instead of how he’s pulled flush against Harry’s abdomen. Yes. Because no.

"No, I don’t." Harry replies, sounding a little confused at why Louis is asking. "Why would they?"

"Um, because you’re a teacher?" Louis says, heavily mocking. "Since when are teachers allowed to take part in productions?" Louis turns to meet his eyes, ignoring how close their faces are and dropping his leg slightly from the lift.

This earns him a jolt around his middle and a stern snap. "Don’t drop your leg."

Louis swallows and turns away from Harry again, lifting his leg back to its original height, back arching again. "I just- People will talk, that's all. You know that lot well enough by now. They’ll be confused and angry that the role has gone to you, especially seeing as you haven’t been here for very long."

"I haven’t, have I?" Harry hums. "And yet already I’m growing tired of _someone’s_ attitude." He quips, though there’s humour to his voice. "Enough of this now. Let’s focus on the task at hand. Lock your knee again." He moves one arm from around Louis’ waist and grips his knee to emphasise what he’s asking.

Louis does as told, pressing his lips tight together as his arched back begins to softly ache, all his weight on one foot growing heavy against the wooden floor. "Okay."

"Now. For the pirouette," Harry begins, voice softer than the stern order just moments before. "You need to lean just slightly over too far, like this." And Harry slowly leans Louis so that he’s nearly toppling forwards, most of his weight taken by Harry’s arm. Louis presses his lips together until it’s painful.

"But only for a second." Harry says. "Then, with this leg," The hand on Louis' knee moves, fingers curving to accommodate the bend of his knee as he shows Louis what to do. "You bend the knee, snapping the leg in and down quickly, and pivot on your supporting foot. Then use the momentum of your lifted leg to whip yourself round into the turn. You’ll always end in open _fourth_ for this step. And the pirouette must always be _en_ _dehor_." He explains, and it’s slightly bordering on all too much for Louis to remember. _Bend, snap, in and down, pivot, whip, turn, land, open fourth_ , _en_ _dehor_. Jesus fucking Christ alive.

Louis turns to face him again, leg dropping away from Harry’s hold. "Look, Harry could we-" Oh shit. "Sorry, uh- Monsieur Styles…I keep doing that, sorry."

"No, it’s fine." Harry says, and there’s a short silence that follows. "It’s fine, Louis. Besides the fact that I hate being called Monsieur anyway," he chuckles, "it’s perfectly fine to go by first names in a private lesson setting. I call you Louis, don’t I?" And he does that _thing_ again. That thing where his smile glitters in his eyes, and Louis flicks his lips out into a purse before turning so he’s facing away from him. Where it's safe. Can’t handle the glitter grin, not right now. Not when Harry’s still got one arm loosely around his middle.

"You always call me Louis." He mutters instead.

"I do indeed." Harry just nods. "Let’s go over this again." He adds after a beat, and his grip around Louis tightens to pull him flush against him again. Louis reminds himself that it’s purely for support. _Support_.

"So, lift your left leg again – yep, lock the knee so you’re into the full _penché_ , good." Harry’s hand is back on his kneecap again. "Now, I forgot to mention, when you bend the knee and snap the leg in for the pivot, you need to make sure you keep your thighs as tense as possible, else you won’t make up the required momentum. Believe me, I fell over many times while creating this step." He chuckles breathily and it flutters against the back of Louis’ neck. Louis screws his eyes shut in a long blink, wondering whether Harry did that on purpose. Is he pushing again? Should Louis start pushing back? This is going to become too much soon. He can already tell. His ears and neck flush hot and he focuses on everything _except_ the line of Harry’s torso pressed to back. Everything except.

_He’s a prick, Louis. Remember he’s a prick._

"So as long as you keep this tense," Harry moves his hand, sliding the flat of his palm and the pads of his spread fingers along and around Louis’ inner thigh, achingly close to Louis’-, well. Yep.

Louis sucks in a breath, hoping that it will simply come across as him preparing himself for doing as Harry says. Harry’s fingers are hot points of pressure around his thigh muscle and it involuntarily tenses, fluttering under his touch. Fuck. He needs to put a lot of distance between them as soon as this is over. Which, _soon_. Please. He breathes deeply again, feeling his middle expand against the line of Harry’s forearm.

He waits, waits for Harry to continue explaining what to do.

But it doesn’t come.

He’s still there, behind him, _against_ him, he can feel that his arm is still tight around his waist, fingers still pressing into his inner thigh, breath fanning against the skin of his neck, even as Louis’ lower back begins to _really_ ache. He winces, shifts his weight on his supporting leg because keeping it held becomes too hard to balance without wobbling now, especially when his brain may or may not be growing dizzier by the second.

Yet Harry still says nothing. This is very quickly becoming inappropriate actually. If Harry doesn't say something soon, Louis can note this down as unnecessary contact. Yep. _He touched my thigh and didn't let go_. Harry needs to let go. Or at least _speak_. Anything to prevent this situation from spiralling into Potentially Illegal.

He still doesn't say a word.

Only, he _does_ move.

His hand on Louis’ thigh slides further round, the tips of his fingers brushing down to just skim across the very bottom of Louis’ buttock. And okay, that was entirely unnecessary, _what the fuck is Harry doing_?

Louis turns in Harry’s hold, twisting on his leg a little so he’s able to meet the taller man’s eyes, hopng to convey to him his confusion and his general mindset of _what the fuck are you doing_?

It causes the leg in Harry’s hold to turn too, rotating in his grip, but Harry doesn’t drop his hand. If anything, he holds him tighter, the rotation meaning it’s now the hot press of his palm on Louis’ inner thigh instead of his fingers. Louis’ not sure which he would’ve preferred, though his back throbs painfully at his change in position.

Again, their faces are impossibly close and Louis finds himself swallowing, the sound audible through slightly parted lips when he sees the look Harry is giving him. His pupils are dark, blown and _fuck_. The long and short of it all is that Harry’s looking straight into Louis’ eyes with nothing but pure, unabashed _lust_. And Louis falters under the heavy gaze, the heat on his neck snaking down his spine, settling forwards in his gut. What is this? What’s even going on right now? Why is Harry’s hand still tight around his thigh? _More_ _fucking_ _confusion_.

Then Louis _really_ wants to curse out loud, because Harry’s gaze flicks down to his parted lips, and stays there, each fluttery exhale hotly tickling across Louis’ mouth. This time Louis can’t put it down to his own imagination, can’t convince himself that Harry isn’t looking, because he _is_. Blatantly. And Louis’ not sure he can handle that, honestly.

Wait though. Wait.

This is fucked up. Isn't it? This is all a load of bullshit. Harry's putting this on. He's _pushing_ again; testing to see if Louis will cave, or if he'll stay professional. Well. That's easy to sort out. In fact, this is the perfect opportunity to do some of that "pushing back" he was talking to Niall about. Okay. Right then.

Louis shoves all rationality into a box and kicks it down to the depths of his consciousness. Let's throw caution to the fucking wind then.

He drops his eyes to Harry's own mouth, taking in the way his lips, full and damp, are already slightly parted. Jesus. Okay.

He pushes out his best shaky exhale, and goes for it.

"Harry…" He manages, barely above the sound of his own breathing, making sure to shift slightly in Harry's hold, sway ever-so-slightly closer into him.

And it works. Whatever it is, it works somehow. Because something seems to snap inside Harry’s dazed mind. He blinks, eyes meeting Louis’ again for just a second, and then he drops everything.

Including Louis.

"Woah! Shit, _Harry_ \- Fucking hell!" He stumbles backwards out of the arabesque, nearly falling onto his arse, back twinging painfully after having been arched in one position for so long.

Harry looks _mortified_ with himself, eyes never meeting Louis’ as he shifts awkwardly on the spot and then inhales deeply. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to- to drop you."

"No," Louis begins with a breathless laugh though there’s little humour in it, hands gripping his own back as he doubles over to bend his spine the other way. "You looked like you had every intention of _kissing_ me actually. Which to be honest, I think I might have preferred over being unceremoniously chucked in the direction of the _floor_." He squeezes his eyes shut then, dropping his head forward to completely curl his spine, inhaling in soft relief as the pain eases in his lower back. "Fuck, this is the worst it’s ever been, you bastard."

"Sorry." Harry says again, and this time when Louis looks up, he notices his cheeks have pinked ever so slightly and he's avoiding Louis' eyes. Is he-? He's still acting then? Even after-? Odd. Okay. "Shall we- Do you want to take a break for today? We only have ten minutes left anyway. You can go early. If you want." Harry manages.

Louis frowns, completely confused. Harry’s never seemed so flustered, so _embarrassed_. Even in that session the other week when Sammy had called him out on getting the name of a step wrong. What _is_ this?

Louis frowns. "Uh- yeah, okay. If you want me to." He slowly straightens again, rolling his shoulders a little as he searches Harry’s face for signs of why he’s acting so odd, so out of character. He _was_ putting it all on, wasn't he?

"It’s not that I- I don’t. Maybe it would just be best, after-" Harry sighs then, rubbing a hand across his mouth. "Let’s just call it a day for today. I need to- I’ve got some things I need to… sort out." And then he turns away from Louis and walks over to the corner where his bag sits. Wordlessly, he hoists it onto his shoulder, turns back to glance at Louis briefly, and pushes his way out of the studio doors.

Louis watches the doors swish shut, then collapses onto his back, arms splayed like a starfish and eyes squeezed the tightest they'll possibly go.

"Fucking _shit_."

 

***

 

Louis doesn’t tell Niall about The Incident.

He’s not even entirely sure why, only that he knows it’ll bring him more mocking. And he’ll avoid that any day.

It’s Friday, two days after the awkward session on Wednesday. Two days since he’s seen Harry. And Louis honestly doesn’t know how things are going to go today.

Harry arrives on time, as usual, but this time he has a clipboard in hand, and Madam Charee is hot on his heels.

"Everyone! Finish stretching quickly and come and gather round." He calls out, not even looking up as he puts his bag down. He then pulls a chair out for Madam Charee, followed closely by one for himself.

Once everyone is gathered, he crosses one leg over the other, and not once meets Louis’ eyes.

Okay. So we’re going with ‘ignore’. Fine. Louis can definitely do that. _Has_ been doing that since it actually happened. Definitely. Yep. Fine.

"Madam Charee and I spent most of yesterday going through the roles list and assigning everyone parts. I’ve got the list here, and once you know your part, if you could move to the other side of the room so we can see who is left, as some of the parts aren’t named and those still need assigning. Obviously, we’re also taking students from the younger class, but ideally we want most of the bigger roles to be you guys." He flashes a brief, very fake – to Louis anyway – smile, and returns his eyes to his clipboard. "Okay."

They call out names, one by one, each time telling them the name of their part and then sending them across to the other side of the room, until all named parts have been assigned, other than the two principals. Louis, Zayn, Kevin, Holly and a couple of others remain gathered around them.

Louis gathers himself up, mentally prepares himself for the moment that he and Harry are revealed as the leads. Preparing himself for odd looks and, most likely, muttered comments of irritation and mockery. Nothing he’s not used to, but he still doesn’t like the inevitability of it.

"And finally, the last two named parts, The Swan and The Prince." Harry says, still never meeting Louis’ eyes. "Madam Charee, I’ll give you the honours of revealing those." He smiles warmly at her, the first genuine smile he’s given all morning, and hands her the clipboard. She takes it weakly. She seems less excited than the other day when she’d first approached them with it, and briefly, Louis wonders whether she’s regretting her choices. Just his luck, that.

"Yes." She begins, smiling at the remaining dancers. "For this production, we needed two strong, male _danseurs_ who work well together and would be able to give a convincing performance of love, devotion, desperation and triumph. I know that the choices I made-" Harry clears his throat beside her. " _Have_ made, the choices I _have_ made, yesterday," she seems to amend, and Louis shoots Harry a confused look. Harry ignores it, jaw clenched and eyes falling into his lap. "Is the right one." She continues, though it sounds oddly forced. Then her eyes find Louis'. He swallows, slightly nervous though he’s not sure why. Yes he is. He _is_ sure why, because there’s no way Perrie is going to let this happen without teasing him about it. Especially after the comments Madam just made about love and devotion and god knows what. Great. Not to mention _everything else_ shitty that this next anouncement is going to bring him.

He steels himself for the inevitable.

"Louis Tomlinson." She says, eyes falling to him and burning with great happiness, glittering joyfully, though there’s something else there too. Something… deflated? "You will be dancing the part of The Swan, as I am told you connect well with strong characters through dance." She nods at him.

Louis nods back, returning her smile the best he can. "Thank you, Madam Charee."

"And the part of The Prince," Madam Charee sucks in a breath, her voice considerably less bright. Louis catches Harry shifting in his chair, trying to act casual by busying himself with tying his hair back into a bun. He frowns, because Harry’s attempt is piss poor to say the least. "Goes to Zayn Malik."

Aha. What?

_What_?

Zayn stands, smiling, and reaches to politely shake Madam’s hand. "Thank you, Madam Charee."

Louis is frozen to the spot, face still painted in the initial confusion that Harry's actions had caused him. He's pretty sure he looks vaguely like he's just eaten something foul. Why is Zayn his partner now? Why not _Harry_? Harry who fucking _made_ Louis accept this part? Made him accept this part with no room for his own say and now _he’s_ not even _doing_ it? What the _fuck_? What the actual fucking _fuck_?

Was this his plan all along? Earn his trust, convince him they’ll be partners and then drop him? _Again_.

Louis is starting to really dislike the feeling of being dropped by Harry Styles. He doesn’t need it. He doesn't need this. _Him_. Doesn’t need him. One bit. So, _fine_.

He glares icily at Harry, refusing to look away even as Madam Charee asks him to move over to stand with the others. He doesn’t move one inch, fists clenching at his sides as his eyes remain hard on The Bastard With The Bun. Who _still_ is not fucking looking at him.

Fine.

Harry wants him to push back? Wants him to start fighting back against every last _confusing_ little thing he throws at him? Fine. Okay. If that’s what Harry wants, that’s what Harry will get.

Fine.

 

***

 

"Can I see that last section again please guys? From the _pa de basque glisse_ in the corner." Harry points to where he wants to dancers to start from.

It's only been half an hour since the reveal of the parts, and Louis is still fuming. He's done as his told, accepted Zayn's warm congratulations and returned it just the same. They've started learning one of the group routines for the production and so far, Louis hasn't said a single word. He's followed Harry's instructions, moved when he's been told to move, corrected himself when told to. But not spoken once. And he can already tell that it's irking his teacher. _Good_.

"Yep, it's there-" Harry comes over to stand in front of the group, just a step away from where Louis and Zayn take the front centre spot together. If he reached over, Louis could shove him right between the shoulder blades. Hard enough, and Harry would fall right the fuck over. Louis briefly considers doing so.

Harry continues tweaking through the few steps of the routine that he's taught so far, and Louis continues to not speak at all. Perrie sends him a funny look at one point, which he only smiles at, assuring her that he's fine. He _is_ fine. He's just pissed off with the man in the spandex t-shirt.

"Right. Louis and Zayn, we'll go over this some more in your duet sessions, but for now, just learn the steps with the others and we can incorporate characterisation into it at a later date." He tells them, tucking some loose strands of hair behind his ear. "This is just the get the rough skeleton of the piece, we can add the meat another time." He reaches up to tighten his bun and flashes a grin that niether of them return. Louis because he's severely pissed off, Zayn because he's probably confused as fuck. What is it with Harry and all the metaphors? They're gross. Fucking "meat on a skeleton" what is he even _on_ about?

"Got it?" Harry prompts cheerfully.

"Yeah, good. Yeah." Zayn nods, clapping his hands loosely together and shifting his weight on his feet.

Harry then turns to meet Louis' eyes. "You good, Louis?"

Louis holds his gaze, watching with satisfaction when Harry's confidence momentarily falters beneath it. Louis doesn't make a sound, intending to make this as awkward as possible.

"Louis?" Harry tries again, adding in a little laugh, attempting to make _Louis_ look like the strange one here. No one laughs with him. The awkwardness settles around the room like thick dust. _Hah_. "Louis, are you okay?"

Louis sucks in a breath, raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together. Then nods. "Fine, Monsier Styles. All good, thanks." He forces out a very fake smile.

And that's all he gives him. And it works, because Harry's demeanour visibly hardens, eyes growing cold and jaw clenching before he turns away from the two principal dancers and starts addressing the group behind them again.

Louis catches Perrie's eye across the room where she's taking a break to have a drink. She simply raises one eyebrow, amused. Louis purses his lips and runs his tongue along his top teeth behind them, pleased. Perrie grins, she knows that look. Louis grins right on back.

Success.

 

***

 

Wednesday’s session is completely silent.

Louis dances, nods at all Harry’s instructions, and doesn’t say a single word. Again.

Even though Harry _had_ come to expect a reaction, he hadn’t expected ignorance like this.

Louis is on his fourth run of his routine when Harry sighs, stops the music suddenly and winces as Louis tumbles out of a triple pirouette, stumbling on his footing and hissing. His head whips to shoot Harry a confused and slightly angry look. "What-?"

"Okay. Enough." Is all Harry says, cutting him off. "Come on. Just have it out."

Louis watches him a moment and Harry’s insides twist uncomfortably. He inhales through it, placing his hands on his hips and meeting Louis’ eyes.

Louis just stares right back. "Have it out?" He prompts indignantly, eyebrows raised.

And okay, fine. If Louis wants him to say it. "Have it out with me. Shout. Swear. Call me a coward or a liar or say that I’m scheming or plotting. ‘Bastard’ is what you usually go for, so-"

"Woah, wait. Why would I call you a _coward_?" Louis lifts a hand, attitude changing to one of more confusion than anger now, though there’s accusation in his tone as he repeats, "Why would I call you a _coward_ , Harry?"

Harry blinks, doesn’t he know?

"Didn’t Madam Charee tell you? I thought-"

"Thought what?" Louis cuts him off.

"Well, I figured after the session on Friday, you might have gone to her to ask why Zayn got my-- the part. Of the prince. In the end." He frowns. "Did you not then?"

Louis shakes his head. "No. I went home."

And Harry laughs, once, throwing his head back before nodding a little. "Right. Went home to sulk about how I’d forced you into it and then backed out." He shakes his head, smiling with no humour. "Good. I like that." He laughs again, colourlessly. "You never fail to surprise me, Louis."

 

//

 

"You never fail to surprise me, Louis."

Louis scowls, shifting his weight on his feet. It’s his turn to put his hands on his hips now. "Go on then. Explain. Why _would_ I call you a coward?"

And Harry’s face drops out of the empty laugh, he blinks, eyes locked with Louis’ and his swallow is visible, Adam’s apple bobbing. It’s heavy between them for a few seconds, though not in the same way it has been before, and it’s entirely unpleasant. Louis feels like he’s waiting for something, waiting for Harry to _do_ something. But when he does, he speaks, and it’s not the answer Louis was expecting. In fact, it’s not an answer at all.

"It doesn’t matter." And Harry turns away, ducks his head and pretends to become interested in his dance bag, jaw shifting crookedly.

Louis scoffs. "Now, see, I disagree." He presses. "If it didn’t matter, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Harry. Why did you make Madam Charee give the part to Zayn?"

And Harry’s silence is all Louis needs in way of confirmation that that’s _exactly_ what happened. Harry _made_ Madam Charee give the part to Zayn instead of him. It perfectly explains why she was acting so put out the other day. Harry had turned the part down, after she had _explicitly_ stated how much she wanted him for it. Of _course_ she’d be upset.

"This isn’t about the dancing is it?" Louis presses, frowning. He can feel the familiar heat of angry confusion stir up in his chest again. "This isn’t about you pushing me and wanting me to push back or other such _bollocks_. There’s more to this, and seeing as I’m now so heavily involved, you’re going to tell me what it is."

And the statement hangs in the air between them. It's nasty, licking like fire at the back of Louis' throat even after he's said it. The longer the statement lingers, the more it stings. Because he knows he's right. There's more to this than Harry is letting on. And if it's _not_ to do with the dancing, the pushing and pushing back, what _is_ it about? What isn't Harry saying?

Harry must be grateful for the lack of mirrors on the wall opposite him, because it means Louis can’t read his face. But Louis doesn’t need mirrors, he’s almost positive that he can imagine what his face looks like anyway. There’s guilt radiating off of Harry, thickening the already tense air in the small studio. Louis briefly considers cracking open a window, if nothing but to make a point.

When Harry turns, his demeanour has changed again. "Don’t forget, _Louis_ , just who is in the position of authority here. I am " _going"_ to do no such thing." He says, voice low and steady and nothing like it had been moments ago. It pangs something in Louis’ chest, something that stings long after Harry has stopped talking and turned to restart the track on the music system in the corner.

"From the top then." He calls without looking, and Louis could honestly walk the fuck out right there.

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Just a note to say that I am away again next Monday, so the next update will be brought forward to this Friday evening, as I actually leave on Saturday. Hopefully the length of chapters 6 and 7 will make up for the gap before 8! Lots of exciting stuff coming up that I can't wait for you guys to read! 
> 
> See you on Friday!


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis, love. Let Harry in, for a change. Yeah? Just try it out.

 

**_[18:47] I don’t appreciate being ditched during lesson. For future record_.**

Louis ignores the text, stabbing at his microwave lasagne with more force than necessary. He doesn’t plan on indulging Harry with his attention right now. It’s his day off, and he’s not about to launch into any more drama. No.

**_[18:52] Also, your duet sessions with Zayn begin as of this Saturday morning. 8:45am for two hours._ **

Louis scowls at the screen, shaking his head and sipping his drink. He won’t. He won’t reply.

_**[18:56] It will be with me, I’m afraid. You may not like that fact, but seeing as Madam Charee insisted I be Zayn’s understudy, it’s best that I lead your duet lessons so I can learn as I teach. It’s logical that way.** _

Okay, fucking what? Sorry? Harry is Zayn’s understudy? Since when?

_[18:58] Since when ?_

And, oops. Okay, fine. So he’ll just get this bit of information out of him, then he’ll ignore the bastard properly. Good. Fine.

_**[19:03] Which bit? Me not appreciating being ditched? Saturday mornings? Or the understudy bit?** _

Louis growls angrily, shoving his fork hard enough into his lasagne so that it sticks up on its own and he can hold his phone in both hands.

_[19:07] You’re such a bastard._

He stares at the screen as he waits for the reply, willing Harry to say something worth snapping at. He’s riled up now, in the mood to really bite his head off.

_**[19:09] ;)** _

Louis’ anger flares.

_[19:11] Don’t fucking wink at me, Harry. I’m not laughing. Why are you Zayn’s understudy ? I don’t have one, why does Zayn ?_

Harry’s reply comes seconds later.

_**[19:16] I will wink if I so wish. And Madam Charee didn’t like the idea of me pulling out of the production completely, so she asked me to be Zayn’s understudy. Not that it makes much difference, because it’s still unlikely that I’ll be in the show. Zayn would have to be seriously injured. But it kept her happy so I just said yes.** _

Louis frowns, re-reading the whole thing before coming up with his reply, his lasagne left to go cold on his lap.

_[19:23] Shut up about fucking winking. And why did you want to completely pull out anyway ? You were the one that fucking accepted it ! And for me too, unless you’ve forgotten ! You seemed so eager to use it as something to push me with, because that seems like such a massive fucking hobby of yours lately._

Then he adds another text.

_[19:24} What changed your mind, Harry ? What’s going on because I can tell this isn’t to do with the production itself. You love this adaptation. What’s this really about ?_

This time, Harry takes a while to reply. Which would be fine except for how ridiculously short it is.

_**[19:27] I told you it doesn’t matter, Louis. Please.** _

Then a second text quickly follows it.

_**[19:28] I’ve drunk too much to be having this conversation right now.** _

Louis sucks in a breath, not completely believing him but whatever.

_[19:31] Okay, fine. Fuck off then. I'll see you on Saturday._

**_[19:34] Why do you behave like such a child sometimes?_ **

_[19:37] Fuck off, Harry._

_**[19:40] Louis. I don't understand why you're angry.** _

_[19:43] How about because I never wanted to accept that bloody role in the first place ? How about because you made me take on the role I never even wanted to do, convinced me by spouting some bullshit about "knowing I could do it", then fucking pulled out once I'd agreed ?! Who the fuck does that ?!!_

_**[19:48] Look, Louis. I'm sorry. I really did want to be your partner for the production, but you were right with what you said on Wednesday. It wouldn’t be fair on the others because I’m a teacher, and it especially wouldn’t be fair on Zayn because he gets a good role every year, and deserves as such. I shouldn’t take that away from him.** _

Louis scowls as he reads Harry's explanation. The most annoying thing is that it makes sense. He's right. The part should really be Zayn's. But still.

_[19:52] Okay. So you take my part instead, and do it with Zayn. That way he's got the good part he deserves, I'm not having to do something I don't want to do, and you're making Madam Charee happy. Sorted._

Louis knows he's clutching at straws with his attempted solution, but he's really too angry to care right now.

_**[19:56] You're really only getting half of my point, Louis. I can't do the production, I'm a teacher. I made my opinion very clear to Madam Charee when I spoke with her, I'm not about to go back and retract it. The only way I will be in the production is if Zayn can't be. But I don't need to be in it, Louis.** _

_[20:04] So you're saying I do ?_

**_[20:11] Yes. I am. Landing a lead role like this is major, Louis. Even while still in training. Add to it that you could do really well in the competition next month, and just think about the opportunities it could create for you in the future. Please listen to me when I say that you should do this._ **

_[20:16] You don't seem very drunk._

**_[20:19] Are you still angry with me?_ **

_[20:23] A bit. I still don't appreciate being left to do this by myself. I don't know the first thing about being a principal dancer._

**_[20:26] That's why I'm here. :)_ **

_[20:29] Shut up._

**_[20:32] ... Do you want my help or not?_ **

_[20:35] Yes. But still shut up._

**_[20:38] I'll see you on Saturday, Louis. Have a nice evening._ **

 

 

***

 

 

"Morning, gentlemen." Harry chimes as he pushes his way through Studio 1's doors.

"Wow, someone's cheery." Louis scoffs as he sits up from where he was stretching out across the floor, grimacing when his side twinges from moving too quickly.

Harry only grins at Louis over his shoulder before turning away to rifle through his duffel bag for his shoes. He pulls them out and turns to face the pair, Zayn busy stretching at the bar, Louis still sitting on the studio floor as Harry fiddles with his shoe elastic.

"It's a nice day, I suppose, Louis. But dont' let me interrupt your stretching, go on." He nods at Louis' feet and smiles again. "I need you both properly limbered up today. I'm throwing you in at the deep end."

He wasn't kidding.

Louis is panting like an overweight dog, having just finished the elevation routine The Swan performs with his game sitting, delicately poised, behind him. Apparently, the others get a shorter version of the routine, allowing for Louis to perform small, interwoven solos. The longest involving a lot of floor and arm work, stretching and strengthening his muscles even when the steps are slow and graceful. The longest solo is just before he first interacts with The Prince in the first act of the ballet. He's grateful, but he's also knackered.

"Need to get fitter than that if you want to portray a powerful creature such as The Swan, Louis!" Harry quips, teasing. Louis pulls a face right at him.

It's later, when they're focusing on partner work and their first proper duet piece, that Harry's cheerful, jovial attitude vanishes behind a stern, almost angry one.

Their current focus is one of the many joint steps that the pair have to execute. This one in particular involving Louis positioned in a lunge behind wear Zayn stands, leaning against Zayn's back as Zayn bends forward, allowing Louis to extend his back leg up into a strong and fluid _arabesque_. The move is intimate, needing Louis' right arm to be plastered to the front of Zayn's chest, slung over his right shoulder to reach, and as he leans with Zayn, he has to brush his face against the top of The Prince's shoulder to convey submission and intrigue from The Swan. It's a quick and simple movement, but for some reason Harry isn't happy with it at all.

"It just doesn't _feel_ right, I don't know." He's saying, frowning and crossing his arms around himself.

"Well, we can just carry on learning the routine and then come back to it." Zayn suggests. "Work on characterisation another time, once we know the steps properly."

Harry screws up his face but eventually nods. "Fine, yeah. Let's carry on."

They continue the routine, and the next time Harry gets odd again is when The Prince is holding The Swan from behind, guiding his right arm up and over their heads while holding his left wrist delicately out to the side, as though studying and caressing the feathers of his wing. Zayn is obliviously and innocently continuing the step, bending Louis forward at the middle and following the line of his body with his own, when Harry suddenly claps and startles the pair out of their concentration.

Zayn blinks and straightens up, frowning, and Louis does the same, hands on his hips and chest heaving from the exursion of the routine.

"What's wrong now?"

Harry just shakes his head, not even looking up to meet either of their faces.

"No, nothing. Sorry." He coughs once. "Carry on, carry on. You're, um... it's fine."

"Harry, what the fuck is going on? Why are you so angry and tense? Are we doing something wrong?" Louis asks, watching the way the younger man's brow remains creased.

"Monsier Styles, we can always-"

"I said you're fine!" Harry cuts Zayn off abruptly, then clears his throat and finally meets their eyes. "You're fine. Please continue."

Louis studies him for a second longer, but slowly moves back over to where they need to be to continue the routine. Zayn shoots him a confused look but Louis can only return it. Harry is being weird.

They continue in slightly awkward silence, and Harry doesn't seem to have anymore problems until much later on. Well, not so much of a _problem_ , more of a _desire to interrupt_.

"Woah, wait, Zayn- hang on." Louis is almost laughing. "You've got to lift me right off the floor this time, yeah? So it means I need a proper grip, just gimme a sec-"

Zayn waits patiently, bent forward with one arm out to the side and the other held waiting for Louis' to slide beneath it across his chest. This lift is much like the arabesque lean from earlier, only Louis has to get a good grip on Zayn's arm and balance himself across the length of his back so that when Zayn straightens his bent legs, Louis is gently lifted off of the ground atop him, with his free arm outstretched, parallel to Zayn's. From there, he is to slowly rotate his legs in a gradual windmill motion, rolling sideways off of Zayn's back with steadiness and control.

They're not doing so great at the minute with the whole balance and steadiness thing.

"Okay, got me?" Louis asks and he grapples for Zayn's arm across his chest.

"Got ya, yeah." Zayn nods, bracing himself to take the weight of Louis on his back. "Just match your arm to mine this side."

Louis nods and does so, then looks up to the mirror and notices the way Zayn's face is tense with anticipation.

"Are you-? Oi. Are you _bracing_ yourself?" Louis squawks indignantly. "I'm not _that_ bloody heavy, _Malik_!" He barks a laugh and swats at Zayn's back.

Zayn creases into laughter too, his eyes screwing up, and lets go of Louis' arm across his chest. "Sorry! I dunno- I just- I've never lifted you before, Lou, I don't know what to expect." He chuckles. "Let alone what this lift is even supposed to _look_ like!"

"Let me show you then, Zayn. I've lifted him before." Harry suddenly speaks from where he'd been silently sat in the corner of the studio. Louis had figured he'd given up with whatever was troubling him and just decided to leave them both to it, now that they know the small section of choreography enough to rehearse on their own.

But apparently not.

"Uh, yeah. Okay." Zayn is nodding and stepping back as Harry makes his way over.

"Watch us first, then you'll see what you're aiming for." Harry says. "Louis, watch in the mirror as we do it."

Louis nods, shifting his weight a bit as Harry positions himself into Zayn's place in front of him, legs apart and knees bent, one arm waiting across his chest, the other out to the side for Louis' to meet.

"Okay? Whenever you're ready, Louis." He nods to Louis' reflection and Louis swallows and does the same.

"Okay."

He steps forward a bit more, so that he's right behind Harry, then reaches round his torso to find Harry's arm that will hold him steady across his chest. Harry's fingers wrap tightly around Louis' wrist, and Louis mirrors his other arm out to the side above Harry's.

"Okay." He says again, meeting Harry's eyes in the mirror. "I'm gonna put my weight on you, yeah?"

Harry just nods and adjusts himself on his feet slightly, squeezing Louis' wrist to reassure him.

Louis nods again, more to himself than anything, and slowly leans his weight along the line of Harry's broad back.

Harry doesn't even wobble. Using Louis' arm across his chest to hold him steady, he waits for Louis to find his balance before looking up at their reflection in the mirror. And he has to admit, they look pretty good. Their size difference seems to work for them, and Louis' weight is comfortable and easy to support on his back.

"Okay, keep your abdomen tensed else you'll fall. Good." Harry says. "Whenever you're ready, Louis. Take those legs over, slowly, and rotate yourself off of me to the side." He instructs. "Your right side." He adds. "And take your time, you're quite comfortable so don't worry about me." He chuckles, and smiles through the mirror at the smaller man on his back.

Louis presses his lips together and nods, stretching out his body and tensing so that his legs are raised in line with his spine, feet pointed neatly behind him. From there, he slowly begins to lift his right leg up first, taking it over and following it with the left, tilting on his right hip against the small of Harry's back. He watches himself in the mirror as he moves, and notes how Harry is watching him too.

"Control." Harry murmurs as Louis slowly rolls his weight off of Harry and back onto his own feet beside him.

Then Harry is moving too, something Louis' wasnt expecting. He's rotating after Louis, straightening up as he turns the same way Louis did, to come to a sudden stop facing him, using the grip on his wrist to pull him in, his body towering over Louis' smaller frame and so ridiculously close that it looks like he'd almost stumbled into him. He just smirks. "Good."

Louis lets out a breath, nodding and meeting Harry's eyes as the taller man straightens up again, smiling. Louis just about manages to smile back.

Harry turns to Zayn. "That's what you'll do next, Zayn. As Louis comes out of the lift, you follow, and turn to meet him straight away. Like I just did. It's almost like The Prince is trying to keep as close as he can to The Swan. Obviously he's intrigued by him, he doesn't want to let him go."

Louis swallows.

Zayn nods. "That makes sense. And you two work really well together, by the way." He says from where he'd stepped to the side of the room. "S'a good job you're my understudy, Monsieur. You'd make a really good Prince." He grins. "And now I know what it's supposed to look like, we can practice properly." He adds, still grinning. "C'mon, Lou."

Zayn moves over into a space and only then does Louis realise that Harry is still holding his wrist. Harry notices too, and gives it one more gentle squeeze before letting go and meeting Louis' eyes with a nod.

Louis nods back, once, and makes his way over to where Zayn is waiting.

Okay then.

 

 

***

 

 

It's gone ten by the time they actually finish, and Zayn rushes out with an apology about being late for something to do with his sister's school. Neither Harry nor Louis really catch what he was saying.

Louis pulls his joggers on over his leggings and stuffs his hoodie into his bag, way too hot to even consider wearing it. He wiggles his bare feet into his shoes and grabs his drink to take one last swig.

Harry is across the large studio, fiddling with his bun, his back to Louis. The angle of his raised arms means that his shoulder blades protrude from his back, shifting beneath his lycra leotard, rippling the muscles of his back and biceps and causing the tiniest bit of water to escape from the rim of Louis' bottle and run down his chin. The spluttering and coughing that ensues is enough to catch Harry's attention and make him turn around.

"Careful." He chimes with a crooked smile. "Can't have you dying on me. I'm only the understudy to Zayn, I don't know your part."

Louis can only narrow his eyes and raise Harry his middle finger. Harry's eyes widen in amused shock.

"Rude, Tomlinson." He tuts, picking up his bag and swinging it onto his shoulder. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Louis clears his throat, screwing the top back on his bottle and wiggling it down the side of his hoodie in his bag. "I am rude." He shrugs, lifting his bag onto his back. "There's lots about me you don't know."

Harry hums as he makes his way over. "Hmm, is that so?"

"That is so." Louis nods, zipping up a pocket he hadn't realised he'd left open. He turns back to Harry again once it's closed, flicking his sweaty fringe out of his face and raising his eyebrows.

Harry just chuckles. "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"

Louis frowns, crossing his arms. "Why?"

"I was going to invite you to come and have brunch with me," Harry starts, taking in Louis' defensive stance, "but you seem like you'd rather do _anything_ else, so-"

"No, wait. Shut up." Louis interrupts. "Stop putting words into my mouth. Where are we going for brunch?"

Harry grins, one side of his mouth lifting slightly higher than the other. "So that's a yes?"

"Steady on, mate, I'm not accepting a proposal. It's just brunch." Louis raises both hands in innocence.

Harry is still grinning, and he nods. "Just brunch."

 

 

***

 

 

"Just brunch" turns out to be grabbing coffee - or in Louis' case, tea - and paninis from the nearest Costa and walking through Regents Park as they eat; Louis now wrapped tightly in his hoodie and scarf, Harry dressed in a ridiculously posh-looking black Belstaff coat that almost reaches his shins.

"It's fucking freezing." Louis shivers and bites into his panini, relishing in the warmth is gives to his hand as he holds it. "I shouldn't even be eating this." He mutters around his mouthful.

"Tell me again once you've swallowed." Harry grimaces and sips his drink as they walk, glancing down at how Louis seems to be struggling to hold everything. He wordlessly takes the tea out of Louis' hands and ignores the frown it earns him. It's quickly replaced with a smile anyway as Louis readjusts his dance bag so he can take the hot food in both hands.

"I said," Louis begins onces he's finished his mouthful of cheese and tuna. "I shouldn't even be eating this. It's bread _and_ cheese. Not only that, but _white_ bread, and _full-fat_ cheese."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Next you'll be telling me you don't eat fish either because they're oily."

"Fuck, I didn't think of that." Louis almost stops walking.

Harry rolls his eyes again and sighs, nudging Louis' arm to push the panini closer to his mouth again. "Just eat it. It won't kill you."

They eventually find an empty bench and, despite the cold, Louis agrees to sit for the rest of his panini. Harry had grown tired of watching him battle against the stringy cheese, though when he'd dropped some down his chin and hissed, it had been quite amusing. Then of course _painful_ because his laughter had earned Harry a smack on the arm.

"What did you have in yours anyway?" Louis asks once they're seated, peering into Harry's panini to look.

"Ham and tomato." Harry replies, biting off another chunk.

"Ouch. Hot tomatoes burn."

"Hmm, a bit like hot cheese." Harry immediately quips, smirking. Louis shoves him.

There's a significant amount of Harry's panini left compared to Louis' and the older man wrinkles his nose.

"You eat slowly." He mutters, taking his penultimate bite and reaching for the tea that is still in Harry's possession, sitting neatly against his foot on the ground beside his coffee.

"You eat quickly." Harry shoots back, glancing sideways at him as he chews.

"I have to." Louis pops the last bit of panini into his mouth and cradles his hot tea in his hands to warm them. Once he's swallowed, he continues, "Growing up with a big family means you tend to eat fast. It's something to do with predatory instinct." He shrugs. "Having so many siblings, you subconciously feel like they're going to steal your food from you, and it makes you eat quickly so they can't get to it."

Harry hums and nods in understanding, his mouth too full of panini to verbally respond. Then he swallows and replies, "Well, don't worry. I'm not about to steal that panini from you, if you're subconciously worrying that I am." He chuckles.

"Shut up." Louis mutters. "It's _instinctual_ , okay? Means I can't control it. It's like, imprinted into my brain or some shit." He glances at how much panini Harry has left and raises an eyebrow. "From your panini I'm guessing you don't have many siblings?"

Harry shakes his head and brings his coffee to his lips. "Just one. My sister, Gemma. She's older."

Louis nods. "Does she dance too?"

Harry almost spit-shoots his mouthful of coffee across the path and onto the opposite bench. He saves it with a simple choke and cough manoeuvre.

Louis just chuckles, watching him splutter with faint amusement. "No?" He asks, trying not to laugh.

Harry shakes his head, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. "No." He manages. "Gemma doesn't dance. She's an author actually."

Louis raises both eyebrows and nods. "Oh, that's good. Both of you chose artistic routes, that's nice." He sips his tea with a hum.

"So you have siblings?" Harry asks, sipping his coffee again to soothe his startled throat.

Louis nods as he swallows, "Six."

" _Six_?" Harry repeats, eyes wide. "Wow, bet you really take advanatage of the silence of living alone now."

Louis picks at a thread on his joggers, shivering as a breeze tickles his skin cold. "Nah, I do miss 'em."

"No, no, yeah. Of course you do- That's not-." Harry stops. "You know what I mean."

Louis nods, smiling and running his thumb along the steaming rim of his paper cup. "Not always, but this time, yes."

Harry chuckles and stands to push the rest of his panini into the bin beside the bench. Louis stands too.

"Well." Louis nods once. "Thanks for inviting me to brunch, Harold."

Harry winces. "Harold's my grandfather." He sips his coffee, watching Louis over the rim. "You remind me of him a bit actually."

"Okay, fuck off." Louis quips, nodding and stifling his amusement into a simple grin. Then he huffs out a laugh over the rim of his cup, face bright. "Fuck off."

"No, no! I'm serious." Harry laughs too, stuffing his free hand into his Belstaff pocket. "He too is loud and tiny." He grins. "Like you."

Louis meets Harry's eyes, cup still raised to his mouth. "I'm about to smack you again."

Harry laughs again, louder, his cheeks pushing further into his eyes. "Take it all as compliments, Louis."

Louis hums, raising an eyebrow as he finally takes a sip and swallows. "Hmm, yes, but do you really mean them to be as such, _that's_ the question." He jokes, expecting Harry to just laugh and sip his own drink.

"Of course I do." He replies instead, a frown flickering his brow.

Louis swallows a bigger mouthful, feeling it slide uneasily down and into his stomach. He meets Harry's eyes with a forced chuckle. "Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine, ey?" He downs the rest of his drink and chucks the cup in the bin, ignoring the sting of the burn in his throat. "But I really must be off." He wheezes, then coughs to cover it up. Mother _fucker_ that tea was still quite hot.

This time Harry's frown stays, and he watches Louis assess his shoes awkwardly, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "Right."

Louis looks up, his hands finding his hoodie pocket and his shoulders hunching against the cold. "Right. I'll see you on Monday then?"

"See you on Monday." Harry repeats, as nicely as possible, and Louis nods once, then turns on his heel to head out of the park. "Thanks for coming with me today, Louis." Harry adds quickly.

Louis just throws his best smile over his shoulder. "Anything for you, Teach."

Harry watches him leave, curls and coat dancing in the wind, lifting his coffee cup up to drain it. Their conversation had been pleasant, he muses. But just one positive comment towards Louis himself and it was suddenly over. He chews on his lip in thought, rolling his shoulders against the cold.

Maybe talking to Louis requires a bit more _dancing around_ than Harry had first realised.

How wonderfully ironic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHTY THEN ONE DIRECTION, JUST COME ON IN WITH A SPONTENEOUS SINGLE RELEASE RIGHT WHEN I'M DUE TO UPDATE MY FIC, THAT'S FINE. THAT'S GREAT. HOW IS ANYONE SUPPOSED TO FIND THIS UPDATE IN ANY WAY EXCITING WHEN YOU GO AND DO THAT. THERE IS NOW WAY THIS CAN COMPARE. 
> 
> KILLER SONG BY THE WAY. LOVE IT. 
> 
> Okay. Anyway. Here's the early update, as promised. I'm currently singing Drag Me Down on repeat, but hey ho. Have some OB drama on the same day. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll update on Monday 10th. See you then, loves! 
> 
> P.S. Thank you to those who continuously leave such lovely comments. You know who you are, of course. They're wonderful. Thank you. x


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsals continue. Observation skills are everything. Sometimes, alcohol provides more courage when it's the other person that's inebriated. Oh, and ballet tights do not, in any way, prepare you for super-skinny-fit jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH, HEY. WE'RE EARLY. 
> 
> Yes. I completely forgot that I am in London tomorrow evening - sadly no, not at the BIM Ball with Lou. I'm actually there for theatre. 
> 
> Anyhoo, since I would've been unable to update this for you tomorrow, I've brought it forward a day. It's only fair. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this! And thank you as always for being amazing with your love and comments. 
> 
> :)

"Mm, I'm sure that'd work wonders."

Harry hums as he tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing up his hands so he can wash them in the kitchen sink. He's got Eva Cassidy's Songbirds playing quietly from the living room. He watches the slick remaints of water-thinned blood swirl down the plughole.

"Exactly." He nods to himself, careful not to dislodge the phone. "That's what I'm saying. She rarely takes advice from you, what makes you think she'll listen to me?"

He turns off the tap and dries his hands on the front of his apron, wiping the backs then the fronts before setting about slicing some onions beside the hob.

"Mhmm." He's careful to bridge his non-cutting hand away from the knife, all those silly rules from GCSE Cookery now second nature to him. "No, Mum. I'm sure she'd have told you if that was the case." He tosses the first lot of onion into the wok beside him, letting them hiss with the heat as he starts on the second lot.

"Yep." He realises he's slicing in time with Eva's voice. "No. Don't be daft." He scoops up the slices and adds them to the rest. "Yes, you are." He huffs a laugh and grabs a wooden spoon from across the counter, stabbing at the mince meat in the wok and teasing it into smaller lumps. "You always do." He sighs fondly, letting his mother's light laughter dance under his skin.

"Gemma's fine. She'll probably call you tomorrow and all this worrying will have been for nothing." He stirs the contents of the wok as the song changes to Autumn Leaves in the living room. "You know how well she used to get on with Grandma Winnie, there's no way she'd miss her 90th birthday party is there?" Harry raises his eyebrows. "No. Exactly. Like I said, you're worrying about nothing." He adjusts the heat under the wok slightly and starts reaching for spices on the glass shelf above him, selecting four before putting two back and exchanging them for different ones. All the while he hums to show his mother he's listening. "Mm, yeah. I think that'll work nicely. Especially if you're doing chicken with it, yeah." He gently taps the first of the spices onto a teaspoon. "Chilli Con Carne." He answers, closing the cutlery drawer with his hip.

He laughs.

"For _one_ , yes." Harry rolls his eyes, still smiling. "Yes, Mum. I'm sorry to tell you that, no, you haven't interrupted a date with your panicked phonecall. I'm all alone tonight." He's smiling and shaking his head as he replaces the spice jars onto the shelf. "Well then, my sincerest apologies." He chuckles lightly as he stirs the newly-spiced chilli, slightly swaying with the new tune of Wade In The Water. Cassidy will always be a favourite cooking soundtrack of his.

"Okay then." He tests a small amount of the sauce on his pinky, sucking the red-orange juices off of his finger before nodding again as his mother asks him more questions. "I'll be there, yeah. Of course I'm coming, why wouldn't I?" He adds some ground pepper as his mother continues. "Well, we've already established that I don't have a significant other in which to worry about instead." He rolls his eyes and stirs the chilli once more before adjusting the heat again. "Even if I did, I'd bring him with me, duh." He laughs when his mother does, then something sparks in his brain an he's quick to add, "But if I do end up bringing someone it doesn't mean they _are_ a significant other of any kind." He leans to switch off the rice steamer and turn the heat off of the hob completely. "I might be, yeah. It depends if they want to come." He answers, then sighs as he bends to grab a plate from the cupboard. "No, it's not Zayn. It wasn't Zayn last time you asked and it's still not Zayn now. While he's a spectacular dancer, I'm not interested in Zayn, Mum." He opens up the steamer and waits for the onslaught of heat to dissipate around him. "Good. Thank you." He tests the rice to make sure it's cooked and fluffy.

"Mum! Just drop it!" His voice rises, exasperated. He's not angry, just fed up and bored of the constant match-making his mother seems so eager to continue doing. "Look, if I _do_ end up bringing someone with me to Winnie's party-" He stops when his mother cuts him off. "-and the whole week, yes, I'm still coming for the whole week, don't worry. But if I do end up inviting somebody, you've got to promise me you're not going to go all crazy on him. No raised eyebrows, no unsubtle hinting, no _wedding_ cake ideas." He chuckles a laugh at that. "Yes, and both Gemma and Chris are still recovering. I know for a fact thay wanted the chocolate fudge. And that was only the engagement party." Harry laughs loudly then, remembering just how much his mother really does like to get involved.

"You're a meddler, Mother." He tuts as he serves up the chilli and rice onto his plate. "A solid gold meddler." He puts the spoon back in the chilli wok and grabs cutlery from the drawer. "Yes. Okay. That's okay, I've just served up my dinner anyway." He smiles fondly. "Thank you, and you enjoy your fish. Nighty-night."

With a last light roll of his eyes, Harry pockets his phone and sets his plate down at the kitchen island, taking a sip from the wine that had gone very much abandoned once his mother rang.

Eva Cassidy croons Fields of Gold as he scoops up the first forkful and lets out a heavy sigh.

 

 

***

 

 

"Woah, woah, _mate_." Niall raises a palm at Louis. "I thought you hated the guy?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "I do, I- Well, I guess _hate_ is a strong word but- I don't know he's just. Been less of an arse lately." He shrugs and goes back to ringing up a boy's items, folding each t-shirt and putting in a bag. "He's become more tolerable."

Niall's eyes widen and he scoffs out a laugh. "Uh-oh."

Louis frowns, mid-fold. "What?"

Niall shakes his head and gestures for Louis to continue. "Nothing, nothing."

Louis sets his friend a look but finishes up the sale anyway. Only once the boy has left with his items does he turn back to Niall and fold his arms.

"Why uh-oh?"

"Just, you know."

Louis presses his lips together, willing himself some patience. "No. I don't. Tell me."

"Tolerable." Niall answers. "Tolerable becomes _okay_. Okay becomes _good_. Good becomes _nice_. Nice becomes _loveable_. Loveable becomes _I do_ -"

"Okay, woah. Stop." Louis unfolds his arms enough to hold them up. Then he points at the space between him and the blonde, as if bringing attention to the words he's just spoken, as though they're floating right there in the air in front of him. "That. Is a load of bullshit."

Niall laughs. "Come on, you only think that because you've never experienced it yerself, mate." He pats Louis on the shoulder and whispers, "It'll be okay." Then he moves past him to walk out from behind the counter and in the direction of a confused-looking customer in the far corner. As he walks, he turns back to call over. "At least _pretend_ like you still hate him! It's sickening watching you slowly going all _gooey_ over yer teacher!"

"What do you mean "pretend"?!" Louis shouts back, arms thrown wide. "I don't need to _pretend_ , the guy's a prick!" Which, no. But, yes. So.

Niall stops, mid-backwards-stride, and raises a single eyebrow across the shop floor. " _Sure_." Then he flashes Louis a grin, a wink, and turns on his heel.

Louis almost growls in annoyance. _How does that idiot know exactly how to wind him up so quickly?_

"Why am I best friends with you, you bastard." He mumbles as he tucks some spare cash into the register. "Bastard."

His phone then buzzes in his pocket. A text from Harry?

**_[10:06] Please tell me I'm not alone in the painfully constant torture of my mother wanting me to suddenly be happily married and pregnant? It puts pressure on a woman._ **

While the text is both random in occurance _and_ nature, Louis still finds himself replying. After a quick glance to check he's not being watched by his mate or his boss.

_[10:09] I'm sure you're not alone, mate. Though if you're referring also to the 'pregnant' part, I'm sure you're slightly alone in that. And you might want to contact someone, cos that's both gross and fascinating that you can even achieve that. Unless of course you're last sentence there is true, in which case I need the number of whoever you buy your socks from._

**_[10:12] I thought you didn't wear socks?_ **

_[10:15] I never said anything about putting them on my feet._

**_[10:18] Oh. ... I feel.. ? Like I should be saying thank you?_ **

Louis nearly laughs out loud at that, quick to type his reply.

_[10:20] Don't thank me mate. Thank the lycra. It does wonders for you._

Jesus shit, this is shameful flirting. Or is it shameless? Either way, it's flirting, and Louis should pocket his phone now and probably stop.

_**[10:24] I'm glad it is appreciated by someone at least. Any chance you're up for a sponteneous wedding and adoption scheme to get my mum to stop hassling me?** _

Louis almost chokes on air. Is Harry drunk or something?

_[10:29] Sorry, mate. I know how pushy and nagging mothers can be, but I'm gonna have to decline politely on that one. Terribly romantic of you though. You should definitely keep the text message method for next time._

Louis expects some kind of witty response in return, but he gets none. It seems Harry was happy to stop the conversation there.

Rightio.

 

 

***

 

 

"This is starting to look _really_ good, guys." Harry says as the students rehearse one of the bigger group numbers. A lot of the routines involve smaller groups of dancers, working in a rotating Group A and B system, but Harry was keen on tackling the larger routines first, both for space and proxemic reasons, and to help them get a clear idea of characterisation right from the offset.

"Just keep your chin up there, Jade." Harry taps her lightly underneath it as he swerves his way between them as they move. He knows the routine well enough to avod collision, his body moving and stepping just out of each dancer's way as they sway and glide through the routine.

"Very impressive control there, Perrie, perfect." He smiles at her as he passes. "Oh, you're all gonna look stunning once you're doing this in costume!" He cries dramatically, earning himself a laugh from those who still have the breath for it.

Harry moves through the rest of the dancers to where Zayn and Louis are waiting in their respective positions, before the step comes when they are due to join in with the others. When it comes, Harry openly glows, beaming and bringing his hands to his heart in mock adoration, earning another murmur of amusement from his students, all of them moving perfectly in time with each other and the music.

"Honestly, you're all so _beautiful_." His eyes scan across them as he speaks, flickering for half a second longer on Louis when he adds, "I'm in love already."

And it. Well.

It goes unnoticed by most.

But not by Louis, who almost stumbles his footing and nearly grabs onto Zayn for support.

And definitely not by Perrie, whose eyes widen and lips curl up into a grin. She makes eye contact with Louis a few seconds later and he can only swallow, bracing himself for the teasing that's sure to come.

The session draws to a gentle end with Harry leading the first of the group cool-downs that he had earlier explained would become routine now that they've got steady and solid work schedules to follow.

"And as you come up from that, just breathe..." He's murmuring softly as he sits up too, watching the students follow.

"Excellent. Well done today, everyone." He smiles and stands, letting everyone else either do the same or flop onto their backs.

Louis is a flopper.

Harry wasn't expecting any different.

"You're free to go then guys." He throws them all one last smile before turning to head over to his bag and jacket, going straight for his water bottle.

"Guys!" Perrie suddenly calls out.

Louis opens one eye from where he's still flopped on the floor. _What the fuck is this going to be..._

Everyone in the room gradually stops and turns their attention to her, earning a grateful grin and a little wave. "Hey, so, Jade and I were just discussing and- Well, we don't often get so much praise like that during a session, and we were thinking, well, it means we must be doing _something_ right, right?" She jokes, laughing when everyone else does. "So, we were thinking, how about we all celebrate how well these rehearsals are going? Cos-". She pauses and gestures over to Harry who is listening in while packing up his bag. "I agree with Monsieur Styles, we do look _pretty_ fucking good." She laughs again. "So we were thinking basically, drinks on Friday? At The Anchor?" She asks, watching everyone for their opinions. "Everyone's welcome obviously." She says, then adds, "Even you, Monsieur." She turns back to Harry to make sure he heard.

"Ah, well. That's sweet of you, Miss Edwards, but I shouldn't. I wouldn't want to ruin your fun, being the teacher and everything." He smiles. "But thank you for asking."

"Don't be daft, Sir." Jade pipes up beside Perrie. "You're more than welcome. We insist." She grins. "And besides, like, I know one or two people in this room who'd probably _prefer_ it if you came too."

Louis' head pops up from where he's still lying down, bypassing Jade completely and setting Perrie with an evil look.

Perrie laughs and rolls her eyes, mouthing, " _Go on!_ "

Louis just sighs and drops his head back again. _For fuck's sake._

Harry slings his bag onto his shoulder and jabs a thumb towards the doors. "Will you let me escape if I give you a 'maybe'?" He raises an eyebrow, smiling.

Perrie grins and nods. "Yeah, okay."

Once the studio doors are swinging shut behind Harry, Louis lets out a long and dramatic groan.

Perrie crouches to ruffle up his hair as she passes on her way to the changing rooms.

 

 

***

 

 

"And one, two, _lean_ \- really reach there, let your body match your face." Harry instructs two days later. It's Louis' private session, a wet and miserable Wednesday and Harry's hair is only just drying out from walking to the studios. It hangs in clumped curls, darker than usual and every time he comes closer to help Louis with some technical work or guide him through a mistake, the smell that dances off of him is stronger than Louis is used to. He also smells a bit like rain.

" _I tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your_ \- careful on that sidekick there, don't let it bounce back, it looks messy... _let me give you my life_. Yes, good. And-"

He keeps dong this, Louis notices. Between each instruction or correction, Harry will slip into singing or humming along with the song, almost as though he doesn't realise he's doing it. It's both distracting and endearing to Louis. Both of which become a nuisance when it means he keeps going wrong.

"Nope, you've missed out your _passé relevé_ there, that's why you're early. Come on, Louis, stay focused." Harry claps, just once, then folds his arms behind his back again, eyes following Louis' legs and feet as he dances. " _There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle_ \- Keep that chin high! They'll immediately mark you down for lack of poise! Come on!"

It keeps going like this for the rest of the lesson, Harry will sing his way through Louis' routine, clapping and barking at his mistakes and only slightly praising his better moments.

"You're getting harsher, do you know that?" Louis says later, when they're both packing up to go home. Louis is wrapping his ballet ribbons around and around his shoes to keep them together and stop them tangling. Really, it's just something for him to do with his hands.

Harry glances sideways at him as he sits to take off his own shoes. His are simple, black soft-leather ones, elasticated and single-soled. Louis wonders how many pairs of dance shoes Harry owns. Does he have a whole shelf for them in his wardrobe? Why wouldn't that be surprising.

Harry is looking up at him, the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk that pops just one dimple in his cheek. "Oh, I know. It's intentional, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Louis repeats, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. "About...?"

Harry stands, his shoes now in his hands. "About it being personal." He clarifies. "It's not."

"Oh." Louis nods a little. He hadn't even thought it was personal. But-

"Not entirely, at least." Harry adds.

"So it's a _little_ bit personal?" Louis' other eyebrow comes up to meet the first one. "How much of it personal?"

Why does it matter?

Harry just chuckles, hair falling past his face as he bends to zip up his bag. "Stop fretting, Tomlinson. You'll hurt yourself."

Louis grunts, huffs and chews on the inside of his cheek. He's not worrying and he's not fretting. It's just. _Is_ it personal? Has he deteriorated in talent and that's why Harry is pulling him up on more stuff now? Is he getting _worse_? Shit, is he getting _bad_?

His eyes are on the floor beside him, blinking hard and fast, so he doesn't see Harry step closer.

It's also why he physically jumps a little when he feels hands encasing his. Big hands. Warm hands. Harry's hands?

The taller man is still smiling softly, and he gently stops Louis' repetitive ribbon-winding motions with a light squeeze. "See? Fretting." Harry meets his eyes. "Stop it."

And just those simple two words make Louis' heart calm. They soothe the lump in his throat like ice to a burn, dissolving it and letting it slip away and disappear like rinsing sauce off of a plate. Completely melted away with no trace.

This realisation alone nearly stops Louis from breathing.

Harry is still looking right at him. Harry's hands are still gently holding his.

"Stop worrying about everything, Louis. You're going to be fine. The production, the competition. They're both going to go brilliantly." He says, voice softer than Louis ever remembers hearing it be before. "I can see, you know, in the way that you dance. Something's got you tense and uneasy."

Louis swallows.

"Whatever it is, don't let it take over. Face it. Beat it." Harry smiles then. "We both know you can. It's just a matter of fighting it out over who believes in it more."

And then he's dropping Louis hands and moving away, returning to pick up his bag.

Louis finishes packing up in a silence that's heavy, thickly laced with all the words Harry just said, and all the words Louis didn't. Couldn't. He's not even sure he knows what's going on anymore.

"You need to relax a bit. Forget about ballet for a while." Harry says as he's holding the studio door open for Louis a few moments later.

"Hah, good one." Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes as he steps through. "Thank you."

Harry laughs behind him, low and soft. "No, honestly. It's achieveable, believe it or not." He lets the doors swing shut behind them both, stopping in the corridor for a second to pull the keys from his pocket. "Those drinks on Friday will probably be a good start."

"Yeah." Louis nods, untwisting the strap of his bag across his shoulder. "Are you coming now then or what? Did you decide in the end?"

Harry turns the key in the lock as he answers. "Do you want me to come?"

Louis frowns, even more so when Harry straightens up again and is smiling at him. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for Louis' answer.

They continue walking.

"Why does it matter if I want you there?"

"So you do want me there?"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"Oi." Louis stops walking, standing at the top of the stairs that lead down to the ground floor. "We've been over this, stop putting words into my mouth."

"I didn't!" Harry cries, almost grinning. "You literally said "I want you there"!"

Louis stares at him for a moment, takes in his grin, his glittering eyes, the hair that's falling out of his heavy parting and slightly into his face.

"Shut up." He says, and jogs down the stairs.

　

 

***

　

 

"Soooo." Perrie sidles up beside Louis at the bar. She smells of strawberries and something sharp. "Did you convince lover-boy to turn up in the end then?"

Louis sips his beer, eyes straight ahead, staring at the painting of a washed-up rowboat on the wall behind the bar.

"It didn't come up."

Perrie rolls her eyes and nudges into him. "Come on. You like him, don't you?"

Louis shrugs. "He's alright."

"Alright." Perrie copies mockingly. She turns until she's leaning back against the bar, resting on her elbows with her cocktail in one hand. "Okay. If he turns up, I'll try not to be too annoying and pesty, yeah?"

Louis glances sideways at her. "And if he doesn't turn up?"

Perrie just grins, sips her cocktail and meets Louis' eyes. "Then I severely misread all of his body language towards you this past month and a half."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Why is everyone so convinced that his decisions are based on me? Nobody's world revolves around me, Pez. Not even mine."

"Oh, honey." Perrie pouts and side-hugs him. "Honestly? I think he likes you. But that's just me. I misread things all the time." She giggles. "Last year, I thought the Tesco Delivery man was one-hundred-percent gone for Leigh-Anne? I even tried to set her up one weekend so that when she answered the door he'd-... Oh. My. Oh my god."

Perrie's voice has suddenly turned from loud and excited to low and shocked in the space of half a second, and the tone change is so sudden that Louis almost gets whiplash. Jesus, keeping up with this girl is a challenge.

"What?" He sighs. "What is it now?"

"Fuck, Louis." She breathes, and just wriggles her elbow into his side until it hurts.

"Jesus- Perrie! Ow! What the fuck are you-" Louis stops himself, has to, eyes finally glancing over to where Perrie is staring, and really, all coherent words leave Louis' brain anyway.

"Ah! I recognise you two, hi." Harry is smiling, making his way towards them from the doorway just over Louis' shoulder. "Alright?"

"Amazing, yeah." Perrie grins. "Thanks. You?" She sips her cocktail, eyes locked on Harry's over the salted rim of her glass.

Harry's brow flickers into a brief frown and back again, before he nods. "Yes, thank you. Better now I'm here. The taxi driver was giving me odd looks."

"Well, you know." Perrie half shrugs. "Tight-as-fuck jeans tend to gain that kind of response. Why aren't you saying hello, Louis?"

"Hello." Louis automatically responds, earning a shrill bark of laughter from Perrie. He shakes himself and tries again. "Shit. Sorry. Um, hi, yeah. Got here alright then?"

Harry slowly smiles and Perrie just laughs again, slapping Louis on the arm.

Louis can't break Harry's gaze, afraid that if he does, he'll wake up or something.

"Right." Harry says after a moment, still smiling at Louis. "Do we have a table or...?"

"Yes! Over there, look. The others are playing cards, come and sit once Lou has bought you a drink." Perrie jabs a thumb at Louis, then starts heading on over, waving goodbye as she disappears.

Louis swallows again and clears his throat. "Right. So then." He turns back to face the bar and Harry soon comes up next to him. "Drink?"

"Just a sparkling water for me, please." Harry smiles. "Though you don't actually have to pay, Louis." He chuckles.

"You don't drink then?" Louis asks instead, avoiding the fact that Harry is getting his own wallet out.

"Only on special occasions." Harry says. "I don't know, I just don't get on well with it really."

"Bad experience?" Louis prompts.

"Yes, and I'm not about to delve into it for your entertainment, so stop right there." He lifts a finger at Louis. Louis can't help but grin.

The barman comes over and Louis asks for a sparkling water to be added to his tab, not even letting Harry get a word in.

"So." He begins afterwards, dragging is finger through the condensation on his glass. "The other night then, when we were texting."

Harry quirks an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"When I was being an arse about you giving the role to Zayn, blah blah."

Harry chuckles. "Yes."

"That was a special occasion was it?" He asks, lifting his beer to sip from it.

Harry is frowning. "What do you mean?"

Rather than answering, Louis swallows his mouthful, sets his beer on the bar and reaches into his pocket for his phone.

He pulls up the text he's referring to.

**_[19:28] I’ve drunk too much to be having this conversation right now._ **

"Ah, yes." Harry says as he sits up from having leaned forward to read it.

Louis puts his phone away again. "Just special occasions?"

"Special occasions and occasions I deem special." Harry amends with a cheeky smile.

Louis rolls his eyes and grabs his glass again.

"So are we going to go and sit with them? Or shall we stay here and continue to feed the rumour mill?" Louis asks, mouth inches from his glass.

"Rumour mill?" Harry repeats, thanking the barman as he sets down his sparkling water. He immediately pulls the lime slice from the rim and starts sucking on it.

It's this action that renders Louis speechless for about thirty solid seconds.

"Um, yeah, well-" He coughs, then sips his drink again. "Mainly just Perrie."

"Mainly just Perrie..." Harry repeats again, lime slice now safely down on the bar and away from already-plush-enough lips, thank you.

"She thinks we like each other."

Harry sips some water and frowns as he puts his glass down, turning to look over his shoulder at the girl in question, then back at Louis. He leans slightly forward and whispers, poorly, "We _don't_ like each other?"

Louis would laugh, if his tongue wasn't halfway down his own throat. "I'm sorry?"

"You're implying she's wrong." Harry explains. Again, poorly.

"Well, no I-"

"Do you not like me, Louis? Because I may just start crying." Harry hiccups, bringing a hand to his chest and tugging his bottom lip into his mouth.

Louis flicks his tongue out to moisten his own bottom lip. "You're fucking with me, you bastard."

"No, that's a separate rumour altogether." Harry quips, then grins over the top of his glass.

Louis wants to smack him. He nearly does.

"Come on, you're letting the chin-wagging of your fellow dancers affect you this much? Really?" Harry raises both eyebrows and tilts his head slightly to the side. It momentarily reminds Louis of a puppy. Or something.

He lets out a huffy laugh, eyes falling to his lap. "They just. You know. Won't let it drop."

Harry hums, silent after that for a moment. "Is it really that bad?"

Louis head shoots up. "What?"

"Is it really that bad? Liking me?" He says. "Hypothetically."

Louis' throat feels incredibly dry for someone who's drinking every four seconds. "Um-, I don't know if- It's-" He stops, his brow furrowing deeply, a tightness setting into his chest. "It's not that- I mean I can't really- _Technically_ -"

"Hey, woah." Harry's hand is suddenly on Louis' bicep, thumb stroking and eyes glistening with warmth. "Relax. _Now_ I'm fucking with you."

Louis does his best to let his laugh sound natural, but it comes out more like a nervous, embarrassed goat. "Yeah! Yeah, no, of course."

"Come on." Harry grabs his drink and jerks his head in the direction of their table. "Let's go and sit with that noisy lot."

Louis nods and follows, wincing at the look Perrie gives him as they approach.

She's loving every single second of this.

Louis _isn't_.

　

 

***

 

　

"You're out here for the same reason as me, I presume?"

Louis turns his head from staring out into the darkness, addressing the person who's spoken to him. Politeness and all that.

He's sitting on the table of one of the outdoor picnic benches. It's empty out here, far too cold for punters to be sitting outside to drink, but Louis doesn't mind the chill. Anything to get away from Perrie discussing her "raging sex life" and downing shots of Ouzo with Kevin and Jade.

"Yep." Louis nods as Harry comes to sit at the bench he's on. He looks down at him from he tabletop. "Why do I keep forgetting you're younger than me?"

"Because I'm taller than you?" Harry offers, laughing at the look it earns him.

Louis kicks his feet against the bench beside where Harry is sitting. Technically, right now, Louis is taller than _him_ , actually.

"You've never seen me drunk before, have you?"

"You're drunk?" Harry asks, looking up at him. In the darkness, Louis can only see the faint outline of Harry's curly hair and broad shoulders. Shame he can't see the jeans. The jeans are fucking ace.

"Your jeans are fucking ace." He says, forgetting that he'd been asked a question.

Harry chuckles. "Thank you."

"Amazing." Louis adds. "Seriously, they look really fucking good. And that's saying something, cos I've seen you in ballet tights, mate."

Harry properly laughs then, throwing his head back and exposing the line of his throat to the moon.

Louis licks his dry lips and swallows.

"Question." He says after a second, lifting a finger for permission.

"Go ahead." Harry grants with a smile.

"Where do you put your dick?"

Harry nearly chokes, eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. "Sorry?"

"What for? Don't be." Louis waves a hand at him. "Like, but, you have a big dick, that's not like a secret or anything. I've seen it."

"Oh, you've seen it, have you?" Harry laughs, nodding along.

"I have." Louis nods too. "Sort of."

"Sort of." Harry chuckles.

"But, anyway, you have a big dick - which works cos you _are_ a big dick - but like, in those _jeans_ it's just- gone?"

"Gone?" Harry repeats, ignoring the slight insult somewhere in the middle there.

"It doesn't matter. You must just hide it really cleverly." Louis sighs and tips his head back towards the sky, eyes closed.

"Louis." Harry says after a moment.

"Mmmm?"

"It's probably really stupid of me to do this while you're so far under the influence-"

"Pfff, _under the influence_ , you old _man_." Louis interrupts him, still facing the sky as he giggles at himself.

Harry laughs too. "Anyway, if I asked you to join me for a week in Scotland, would you likely say yes?"

Louis drops his head again, eyes blinking a few times but finally meeting Harry's in the darkness.

"Are you fucking with me again?"

Harry laughs. "No. No, I'm being serious." He says. "I'm going to my mum's for the mid-term week off, and it just so happens to be my Grandma's 90th birthday while I'm there, so Mum's doing a big party thing and inviting lots of people. It's casual, don't worry. But I just wondered if you'd be up for it? There's loads of space for us to continue practicing while we're there, if you're worried about running out of time."

Louis is still frowning in confusion. "You want me to go with you?"

Harry nods. "Yeah."

Louis blinks again. "But...why?" He asks. "You must have loads of posher dance friends that can actually probably _speak_ Scottish and wouldn't embarrass you like I would. Why have you picked me?"

Harry is still laughing at the speaking Scottish part, and he just smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "Because I just have." He replies. "I wanted to ask you."

Louis seems to ponder this for a moment before he slides down off of the table and Harry thinks he's about to just walk away without answering. Except he feels a pair of arms wind around his shoulders from behind and a face very much pressed into the side of his neck.

" _But I don't know any Scottish_." Louis mumbles into Harry's skin, swaying slightly on the spot as if there's music. There isn't. Unless you count the drunken cheering of rugby fans from inside.

Harry smiles and brings his hands up to hold onto Louis' forearms, daring to stroke his thumb along them a little.

"I think you'll be alright." He says, trying not to laugh.

After a seriously long moment of silence, where Harry thinks Louis might've just fallen asleep draped all over him, the older man speaks again.

"You smell good."

It's not quite the _answer_ Harry was expecting, but he's polite about it anyway. "Thank you, I think?"

"Hmmm." Louis sighs. "Okay."

Harry smiles and squeezes Louis' arms. "Okay?"

Louis nods against Harry's neck, then stands up again, letting the chill of the night air bring Harry out in goosebumps where Louis' warmth once was.

"Yeah, I'll go with you."

Harry turns to smile up at Louis, even though it's dark and he probably can't see it. "Thank you."

Louis frowns then. "What for?"

"For saying yes."

Louis laughs. "You want it to be me _that_ badly?"

Harry holds Louis' eyes for a second, wondering if there's any possible way that his drunken cloud of blurred nonsense can at _all_ be permeable or maybe just a little sharpened by the cold. Then, deeming it safe, he nods.

"Yeah."

Louis smiles, eyes crinkling, then ducks his head to look down at himself, hands finding his crotch.

"Seriously, where the fuck would you even _think_ of putting it? You can't squeeze it between your legs, you can't push it up over your thigh, what the _fuck_?"

Harry sighs, smiles and stands up, turning Louis at the shoulders and guiding him back inside.

"You're gonna show me." Louis says, like it's a fact. "You're gonna _have_ to show me."

"It's just a magic trick, Louis." Harry whispers to him with a laugh, delighted in the slight gasp that follows.

" _No fucking way_..." Louis breathes.

"Yep." Harry nods as he steers Louis in through the door.

Louis hiccups, giggles again and then stops walking altogether, causing Harry to nearly trip over him. "You're a _wizard_ , Harry!"

Harry's resulting bark of loud, uncontrolled laughter _does_ actually turn a few heads.

He doesn't care.


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the state he was in when Harry asked, Louis hasn't forgotten how he answered. But there might be the small hurdle of a nightmarish hangover to tackle before he can even do so much as think. Harry is his usual charmingly helpful self and strangely, Louis is finding it easier to tolerate as of late. He doesn't want to dwell on what that means. If it even means anything. Which it doesn't. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> So obviously, my sincerest and utmost apologies at this being so late in coming. Honestly, when everything happened I had a minor freak out. I hate making people wait for WIP's, it's the worst thing ever. 
> 
> But at last! Here I am again, hoping you all enjoy this update. Let's just say there seems to have been a change in the weather...

It's raining this morning. Thick, relentless sheets of it that pound ungraciously against Louis’ head and shoulders. His back is soaked too, and each new stride kicks up tendrils of muddy water that splash against his joggers and soak into his shoes.

He missed his bus to the studio.

Normally, he'd blame it on the bus. Stupid timetables and stupid drivers who don't stick to the stupid timetables and just make shit up and are really very stupidly stupid.

But Louis knows, this time, that the reason for missing his bus is the very same reason he had to forego his usual morning tea in favour of not almost throwing it back up again.

He's _monstrously_ hungover and _incredibly_ grumpy with it.

So he's going to blame Perrie instead. He's already sent her a strongly-worded text.

He crashes through the doors of the studio building, startling the new girl on reception and not caring in the slightest. He's fucking late. He's fucking late and he's fucking cold.

The walk to the studio – because his stupid car needed petrol that he didn't have time to go and get on the way here – did only one thing (other than make him really very wet and really very miserable), and that is that it made him heavily regret not making himself a tea to bring with him. He could've drunk it on the way. He could’ve drunk it during the duet lesson he's about to endure with a stonking headache and shivery limbs.

Now he wants tea _and_ he's hungover. Beautiful.

He shuffles down the corridor towards Studio 1, fifteen minutes late and in shoes that are so wet they're squeaking with every step. Squelching too. Lovely.

Harry’s gonna be mad at him. Zayn’s probably gonna be mad at him.

Louis doesn't give a shit, at least he showed up. He had a very emotional and grieving detachment from his bed this morning, which was quickly interrupted by the need to vomit, though, luckily, that didn't actually happen in the end. Otherwise he _definitely_ would've stayed at home. In bed. Which he already misses.

"I swear to fuck, Harry, if you try and give me shit for being late today, you're gonna need flight clearance, pal." He mutters to himself as he reaches the correct set of double doors. "If you so much as _hint_ at any kind of amusement over my current state, I will not hesitate to-"

"Tea?"

Louis almost stumbles backwards.

"I've bought you a muffin thing from McDonald's too, if you want it. Always used to help my hangovers if I ate something awful and greasy."

Louis blinks at the takeaway tea that's being held millimetres from his face. He sniffs, taking in a short lungful of sausage and egg from somehwere beyond the aroma of tea leaves and almost heaves right there on the spot.

Flicking his eyes up, his attention then shifts entirely from the offerings to the face of none other than Harry Styles. Who’s smiling warmly, and blinking in complete innocence at what he's just done. Louis' stomach almost churns again.

He takes the tea from Harry’s hand.

"I'll have this. Not the other thing." He sniffs again. Maybe he's getting pneumonia. "Thanks, though."

Harry just nods and turns to grab something else. Louis shakes his head and sets his bag down by the mirror to one side.

"Fuck, it's freezing in here today." He sets his tea down gently, then glances around with a frown. "Uh, where’s Zayn?"

"He called to tell me he's not very well today. Food poisoning, he thinks."

"Food poisoning." Louis repeats, watching Harry set up the sound system with his back to him. He's wearing full dance gear, Louis notices. "He's not even _here_ today, and yet I am?"

Harry turns back with a grin. "Yes. You are." He holds Louis’ eyes for a second. "Amazing dedication, I'm very impressed."

"You knew I'd be hungover." Louis places his hands on his hips.

Harry nods at Louis’ tea. "I did."

"So how come, knowing Zayn wasn't coming, you didn't just cancel the lesson?"

"I try not to cancel if I can help it." Harry answers, arms lifted to bring his hair up into a bun. "S’not good for progress."

There it is. Harry’s next dose of pompous bollocks. Louis had been missing those.

He watches his slender fingers manipulate the hair around the hair bobble for his bun, the muscles in his arms bunching as he holds his hands above his head.

"But I'm dying." Louis counters, completely deadpan.

Harry chuckles, eyes fixed on the floor as he concentrates on his bun. "And I brought you some remedies for that."

"Remedies for dying." Louis says, crouching to pick up his tea and sip from it. He frowns. "You even know how I take it?"

"I even know how you take it." Harry grins, eyes a shade more playful, and Louis almost chokes on his mouthful of scalding hot liquid. Which. Never a good idea.

"Right." He wheezes, nodding and setting it back down. He grabs out his ballet shoes and begins shoving his joggers down to kick them off. "So, do you hand out hangover remedies to all your students?"

Harry laughs again, fiddling with some buttons on the music system. His eyes flick to Louis just once, then back again.

"You'll remember I haven't been a teacher for long, Louis. So no." He presses something that makes the machine click. "But it's worked out quite well that Zayn can't make it today." He says, then makes his way over to the portable ballet barre. It's been left out in the centre of the room from Friday’s late-night Over-40’s Beginner’s session. Harry steps up to it and begins stretching.

Louis frowns, finishing slipping his shoes on – now elasticated because he's gotten even more lazy – and jogs over to join his teacher at the barre.

"Why has it worked out well?" He asks, eyebrow quirked.

Harry smirks a little, props his left leg up on the barre so he's facing Louis, and stretches over sideways, letting his right hand meet his left ankle. From this angle, his face is almost upside down to Louis, but the cheeky grin does not go unnoticed.

"Because we can't have people thinking I've got favourites."

Louis’ teeth involuntarily clench a little, a pulse of something sparking in his belly, before he shakes it off, swallows, clears his throat and sets his hands on the barre so he doesn't have to look Harry in the eye. He bends into a full _plié_. "No. We can't." He nods curtly. "Good."

"Can't we?" Harry then tests, lifting up from his side stretch and cocking an eyebrow. " _I might already have favourites. Oops. Should I be more careful?_ " He whispers.

Louis remains facing forward, ignoring everything in his periphery and concentrating on not dipping too far into his _plié_. His thighs begin to shake after holding it for so long.

Louis’ silence seems to suit Harry after a short moment, because he doesn't press, just continues stretching autonomously and leaving Louis to his own business. Louis is grateful, if not the tiniest bit disappointed. But it's tiny. Very.

"Right then. Let's get started." Harry claps his hands together roughly ten minutes later. "Push the barre to the side for me, Louis, and I'll get the music up and running."

Louis does as he's told, but can't help the confusion that settles in.

"Um, how are we supposed to do this without Zayn?"

He sort of thinks he knows that answer. But to assume would be giving Harry the perfect thing to jump on and possibly use as ammunition somehow. So he's not going to assume. He'd rather make an idiot out of himself and ask instead.

Sure enough, Harry chuckles from across the studio.

"You do remember I’m his understudy, yes?"

Louis sucks in a breath, his hand still resting on the barre clenches around the metal.

"Oh yeah."

Harry makes his way back over, remote in his hand. He meets Louis’ eyes and raises his eyebrows, mocking. "Oh yeah." He laughs.

Louis narrows his eyes and shakes his head, but somehow takes the hand Harry offers without thinking. It's large and warm around his own.

"I won't teach you anything new today." Harry begins explaining as he takes Louis' hand in his. "As far as I'm concerned, simply running over what we did last week will be enough of a progressive step for now. And there's no use learning new stuff when we haven't got Zayn."

Louis nods, still vaguely concerned as to why Harry is holding his hand up between them. It honest to god looks like they're about to start Morris dancing or some shit. He contains his snort of laughter extremely well.

Harry continues.

"So." He announces, clicking a button on the remote and dropping it to the floor beside his foot. "We’ll test how much you remember from last week, first." He grins, eyes burning straight into Louis’ as the familiar music starts up. "Follow me, we don't start over here."

And finally the hand-holding comes into use. Harry leads Louis across the floor until he's in the right place, then, rather than move over to where Zayn would usually start, he stands right in front of Louis, his back to the hypothetical "audience" that is the far wall of the studio.

"Okay, Louis. Just do the dance as you remember it, and I'll follow your lead."

"I don't- This isn't a duet bit, this- You're just gonna get in my way." Louis complains, pressing his lips together and shrugging. The long intro to the piece is slowly dwindling towards its end and any second now Louis needs to start dancing.

But Harry is right there.

"Ignore me." Harry says, hand still gripping Louis’. "Look through me, through my eyes. Pretend you're still dancing towards The Prince, just focus through me and you'll be fine. I know enough about your part to not get under your feet."

"You're seconds away from getting under my fist." Louis bites, though it's not too violent, more of a snappy, joke-that-isn’t-quite-a-joke. Harry laughs all the same.

"Just try it, Louis." He says once he's recovered. "Just dance, and I'll watch." He nods at him. "From right here. That's the only difference."

Louis tries.

It's awkward, to say the least. Harry really is _right there_ , and he's not watching Louis’ feet, nor his legs or his arms. He's let go of his hand now, but his eyes have remained unmoved. They're fixed, soft yet intense, straight into Louis’. Louis wonders what he's trying to get at here. This must be some kind of special technique exercise. And while it's piss-annoying and slowly driving Louis up the wall, he decides that he doesn't quite mind that, if it means he'll improve as a dancer.

But Christ does Harry really have to stay so _close_? It's off-putting. It's annoying. He's hovering around him like a fly and Louis wants desperately to swat him. He kind of wants to trick him out and stand on his foot or jump on him or something too.

He won't do that.

Eventually, after many moments where Louis nearly ended up foregoing the dance in favour of just shoving Harry away, the piece that Louis has learned comes to an end. He had to mark out the lifts and the partner work, pretending that Zayn was there and waiting out the right amount of counts where he would've been in the air or on Zayn’s back, but he's finally finished. And finally, Harry steps back a bit, blinks a couple of times, then moves to retrieve the remote and pause the music.

Louis gets his breath back a bit, glad of the increased space around him.

"Awesome. Excellent. Good." Harry nods as he speaks. "Knew you'd remember it all, well done."

Louis frowns a little, but thanks him anyway, hands braced on his hips as he breathes.

"You've got all that in your head pretty well, okay, partner-work time then." He says, and claps his hands again.

"No, sorry, can I just-?" Louis holds a hand up. "Can we just talk about what all that was about?" He points to the space around him with both hands, as if he can still see them both moving about like they had been moments before. "What the fuck was all that for?"

Harry chuckles and wets his lips.

"The part of The Swan is extremely specific." He begins. "Character-wise, I mean. You know all that, that's why we chose you for it. So basically, this exercise was to-"

"We?" Louis interrupts.

"-really get you to _focus_ on- Sorry?"

" _We_? That's why _we_ chose you?" Louis’ hands are back on his hips, his breathing is speeding up again. "Madam Charee chose me on her _own_. She came to you during our lesson, she chose both of us, you knew nothing about it." Louis narrows his eyes at the taller man.

Harry shifts on the spot and says nothing.

Louis takes a steady, controlled breath. "You knew nothing about it, Harry." He says again, then scoffs. "Or at least, you did an extremely good job of making it _look_ that way."

"Louis, just let me-"

"Nope." Louis snaps, marching over towards his bag without another word.

Harry intercepts him in a flash. His hands grip Louis' upper arms and his eyes are serious when Louis' finally gives in and glares straight into them instead of at his feet.

"Louis." Harry starts, voice as solid as concrete. "We've been over this before. You know how I feel about making sure-"

"Making sure I'm sufficiently shown off to the rest of the dancing world!" Louis cuts him off loudly. "Yeah, I get it." He makes to push past him but Harry's grip is too strong and he digs his fingertips even harder into Louis' biceps to keep him from leaving.

" _Just shut the fuck up for once and stop interrupting me_." Harry barks, his voice scarily low and steady even as his eyes flash angrily. His jawline, defined even more by the way that his hair is pulled up behind his head, ripples as he clenches his teeth. It's slightly scary.

Louis gulps and shakily does as he's told, even though every fibre in his being is telling him to punch the bastard.

Then Harry's demeanour changes.

"We were doing so well, Louis." He almost sighs, his grip loosening just a little, like he's taking pity on Louis' arms, which are probably now going to bruise. "You were making progress, we were getting along better."

Louis frowns deeply, mouth dropping slightly open in accusation. "You sound like you're my therapist."

"No, I-"

"I don't need a therapist, _Harry_. I don't need fixing or- fucking- _saving_ , so- if that's what you've created for yourself, if you've started doing all of this for me in some hope that you'll come out of it a hero or something then you should really stop wasting your time." Louis grits out. "I'm not some helpless charity case, I'm a dancer with low self esteem. There's loads of us. Go and find someone else to mend."

And this time, miraculously, Harry lets Louis go.

It's silent as Louis strips off his ballet shoes and throws his legs back into his jogging bottoms, and Harry remains standing where he is the whole time.

It's only when Louis' got one hand on the door that Harry finally decides to speak.

"You've noticed then. That's good."

Louis rolls hs eyes. He just wants to go home.

" _What's_ good?" He sighs, keeping his back to the younger dancer.

"That you've identified it yourself, Louis. I hadn't realised you'd done that. But it's a good thing that you have."

"Identified _what_ , Harry? Get to the fucking point."

"You've got low self esteem." Harry answers, finally turning to face the older man. "You just admitted it yourself. You just admitted what I've been trying to make you see ever since I saw how good you really are."

"Oh for fuck's sake, not this again." Louis begins pushing on the door to leave.

"No, wait." Harry says, almost stumbling forward in his haste to stop Louis' going. "We'll drop it then. I'll drop it." He holds his hands up in innocence. "I'll drop it."

Louis breathes deeply, the cold of the studio settling back into his bones now that he's stopped dancing for long enough. It really is fucking freezing in here today.

"It really is fucking freezing in here today."

Harry blinks for a moment, then nods towards Louis' abandoned drink on the floor.

"You didn't drink your tea."

Louis glances over at it too, the silence becoming heavier between them. "Thank you." He finally says. "For bringing me it, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." Is all Harry says, and Louis can't look him the eye for a moment.

"Right." He says instead, nodding to himself and glancing at the clock. "Just over an hour left." He starts dropping his bag from his shoulder.

"Go home." Harry says, smiling softly. "Just- Don't worry too much about today's lesson, just go home."

Suddenly Louis feels guilty.

"You sure?"

Harry nods, still smiling, and reaches to tug his hair free of the bun. It tumbles over his shoulders in messy curls and he runs his hand through the front to shake it out a bit. Louis swallows and looks at his feet, one hand still pressed to the door.

"I, uh." He clears his throat and starts again. "I never thanked you properly, for brunch the other day."

Harry chuckles warmly. "No need to. My pleasure."

Louis nods. "And." He pauses, working out the best way to approach this.

"And?" Harry prompts, pulling his own ballet shoes off and throwing them in the general direction of his bag.

"I haven't forgotten." Louis says, then realises how vague that was. "About last night. What you asked me and what I- What you asked me."

"About the week at my Mum's?" Harry clarifies.

Louis nods again, pushing out a smile as best as he can.

"Good." Harry's smile is bigger. He's nodding. "Good. I'm glad you're still up for it."

"I've never been to Scotland." Louis says, though he's not sure why.

Harry smirks a little. "Better brush up on your Scottish-speaking skills then."

Louis frowns, cocking his head to one side. "What?"

"Nothing. Just a joke, it's nothing." Harry chuckles. "Go on, go home and sleep a bit more. You look like a right state."

Louis gapes, eyes wide.

Harry's just grinning right back.

 

　

***

 

　

Anne's beaming face on Harry's iPad screen is enough to have him seriously looking forward to the week off when he gets to see her. For all that she annoys him with marriage rubbish and raises him on a pedestal far too high for his liking, he loves her. Immensely.

"So then, Harry, love." His mother grins. "Crunch time."

Harry pauses with a crumpet halfway to his mouth. "Crunch time?"

Anne laughs, eyes sparkling. "Yes. What's the verdict on you and your guest situation for Grandma Winnie's birthday, hmm?" She produces a steaming mug out of nowhere and sips from it. There's a giant letter H emblazoned on the front of it and Harry rolls his eyes with a laugh.

"Nice mug."

"Thank you." Anne replies with a wink. "But you haven't answered me."

Harry sighs, deciding to just brace himself for the forthcoming. "Yes, I'm bringing a guest."

Anne can't put her tea down quick enough. She gasps, eyes bright. "You are?"

Harry laughs. "Yes, Mum, I am."

"What's his name?"

"How did you know it's a he?"

"Mother's intuition." Anne shrugs, still beaming.

Harry takes a bite of crumpet, chews, swallows and sighs. "Louis."

"Louis, _Louis_..." Anne seems to be testing for recognition.

"One of the dancers I spoke to you about."

"Oh! You're bringing a dancer! Oh, Mum will love that. You can do a little performance for her, Harry!" Anne is clapping with joy and Harry nearly bursts out laughing.

"No, Mum. We can't. This is Grandma Winnie's week, not an opportunity to _show off_." And he's eyeing her intensely, he knows what kind of thrill his mother got once he'd left to go to Russia in the first place, it was most likely the only thing she ever spoke about at her book club and all she ever wrote about to her pen pals. She's not egotistical, his mum. She's just very good at showing how proud she is. To a lot of people. If he and Louis started dancing in the middle of the party she might just melt into a puddle right there on the carpet.

"Well, love. I'm glad you've found someone you can bring with you. He knows we're in Scotland, yes?"

"He does." Harry nods and takes another bite of his crumpet. "He's fine with it, I promise you."

Anne's nodding before he's finished talking. "Oh, I am pleased. So pleased, love."

"Mum, Louis is not about to become your son-in-law, can we just clear that up now please. You've gone all glowy."

Anne laughs, high and warmly familiar. "Oh, I know, I know. I'm sorry, love. I'll try and stop with all the marriage nonsense." She sniffs. "I just get so happy about it! Gemma phoned, by the way."

Harry lights up. "Ah! See? I told you she wasn't dead."

"Harry Edward." Anne tuts, pretending to swat at him through the screen. "No, she's fine. They just went through a bit of a rough area and didn't have any phone signal for a good couple of days."

Harry quickly disappears to grab his post from the front door, flicking through the letters as he returns. "Good, good." He nods. "And she hasn't secretly eloped without you knowing?"

Anne tuts again and Harry can't hide his grin.

"Of course she hasn't, Mum. Miss out on you helping organise the wedding? No shrill voice in her ear telling her to move the flowers or choose different coloured favour boxes? Nah, I bet she wouldn't miss that for the world." Harry continues to smirk, then he outright laughs, his mouth stretching into a wide, wide smile. He loves winding his mum up.

"I'm seconds away from hanging up on you, mister." Anne warns, though she can't keep the grin away from her lips either. "Louis'd better be well-behaved else I'll be kicking the both of you out. You can sleep out by the lake!"

Harry's laughter is soon drowned out by several knocks at the door. He frowns, glancing at his Mum who just shrugs, and then disappears to find out who it is.

"Parcel for H. Styles." The postman says, and hands Harry a small box and the device to sign for it. "Sorry, I didn't realise I had it for you when I delivered your other post."

Harry smiles. "No worries." He hands back the device after signing quickly. "Thank you."

"Who was it, love?" Anne says once he returns to his living room.

"Postman." Harry says, studying the parcel intently. He doesn't recognise the handwriting of the address.

"Ooh! A parcel!" Anne chuckles. "Open it then, love."

Harry rips into the parcel paper, shaking his head. "I've no idea who this is from."

"There might be a note inside, that's what I sometimes do with my parcels."

Harry pulls out the box from the rest of the paper and frowns even more.

"Is that Yorkshire Tea?" Anne asks, laughing a little and leaning closer to her screen.

Harry chuckles a little. "Yeah, it is." He then finds the piece of paper taped to the inside of the cardboard lid. "Oh." He smiles slightly. "It's from Louis."

"Has he left a little note? Oh, he's a boy after my own heart. I like him already." Anne giggles.

"Mum, shush, I'm trying to read."

**_Harold._ **

**_This is in exchange for the teas you've been buying me recently. I know it's only been two but two teabags are a big deal to me. I love my tea. Don't ask why I've done this, I don't even know myself. And I didn't know what kind you usually drink so I just bought you my favourite instead. So deal with it. This is kind of a bit of a "sorry" and a "thank you" all in one, I guess. I shouldn't have snapped and shouted at you so much yesterday morning. I'm sorry I'm such a twat. Don't expect mail often, I hate post offices._ **

**_Louis x_ **

Harry can't really do anything but smile, and keep staring at that little 'x' as though it will burn a hole in the paper if he takes his eyes off of it. Out of the whole note, that little 'x' is probably what has surprised him the most. Besides the whole thing itself, that is.

"Well? What does it say? Such an odd thing to buy someone, teabags." Anne mutters to herself.

Harry rereads the note before closing the teabag box and disappearing to put it away in the kitchen. His mother is still talking in the living room.

 

　

***

 

　

Harry's phone rings halfway down the first aisle of Tesco Express.

It's Louis, and Harry puts his butternut squash down so he can answer.

"Hello?"

"I've just had a very scary thought."

Harry frowns, smiling at how bizarre this is. "Scary? Why scary?"

"Not scary for you. Just scary for me."

Harry frowns further, crossing his free arm over his chest and shifting his weight onto one hip a little against the handle of his trolley. "Why scary for you?"

"You've asked me to come with you to meet your family."

Harry chuckles. "Well, not exactly _to_ meet them. Not like that. But yes, carry on?"

"You asked me to come with you to your family home, exactly seven days after you complained to me about your mother wanting you to get married." Louis says. "Now, all I'm asking, is should I be expecting a proposal while we're there? Do I need to act like your fiance for the week? Shall I start looking at floral arrangements now to save time?"

Harry is outright belly laughing in the fruit and veg aisle.

"Louis, Louis." He takes in a shaky breath, still laughing. "Calm down. No." He wipes at his eyes a bit. "This isn't- I haven't introduced you as my boyfriend or anything, this isn't like some weird romcom plot, okay?" He laughs again. "Just relax. Be yourself, that's all you have to do." He says. "I promise I have no ulterior motives whatsoever."

Louis is silent for a moment.

"Do you watch a lot of romcoms then or?"

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. "Piss off. I'm supposed to be food shopping."

Louis laughs, then gasps. "Rude. The rudest you've ever been to me."

"Watch it." Harry warns. "I can get ruder if you make me miss out on the half-price raspberries."

It's Louis' turn to cackle. "Alright, alright, keep your hair on."

Harry chuckles and tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can grab some of the raspberry punnets and place them in his trolley.

"Thank you for the teabags, by the way."

Louis' end of the phone dies down a bit. "Oh. Yeah? You got them?" He clears his throat down the line. "Are they alright?"

Harry hums with a nod as he brings the phone out from his shoulder and pushes the trolley forward with his other hand.

"Well, I do drink tea, but I'm more of a Green or Earl Grey type myself."

He can practically hear Louis rolling his eyes. "And after all the effort I went through."

"What? You bought a box of teabags, wrote out a note and posted them? I've seen more effort in your cool down routine, Louis." Harry retorts.

"Oi! I had to chase the fucking postman to get those to you!"

Harry laughs as he grabs a bag of clementines. "Liar."

Louis laughs too. "Okay, okay. So I didn't chase him down the street. But I did put myself through the torture that is the post office so it was still a great amount of effort."

"Hmm." Harry sounds skeptical. "How did you get my address anyway?"

Louis is quiet again for a moment. "I got it from the dance studios. Aimee at reception likes me."

Harry quirks an eyebrow as he squeezes a peach to test its ripeness. "Does she now?"

Louis laughs. "I think so. We get on alright."

Harry takes three peaches and slips them into a fruit bag from the dispenser besides the apples. "We get on alright too."

"Who, you and Aimee?"

Harry shakes his head even though Louis can't see him. He ties up his bag of peaches and gently drops it in the trolley with the rest of his fruit.

"Me and you."

"Oh." Louis says, then it's quiet again for a while. "We do, yeah. Most of the time."

Harry laughs, agreeing. "Most of the time. When you're not shouting at me for helping you."

"Shut up." Louis says. "Don't start with that again, I bought you teabags."

Harry chuckles and pushes his trolley further into the shop. "Teabags that I won't really use all that much."

"Are you purposely trying to sound ungrateful? I didn't know which ones you liked so I just got you ones that I knew were good. They're my favourites."

"Hmm, so I read. You put that in the note."

Louis sniffs. "Well, if they displease you that much then I can just take them back. Make sure they actually get used for their money's worth."

"You don't need to take them back to make sure they get used, Louis."

Louis is quiet again. "What? You're gonna use them now?"

"Nope. But you just said you will." Harry grins to himself. "You are welcome at my place for tea parties anytime. Bring a teddy bear."

Louis is quiet again, then he bursts into high laughter, it tinkles down the phone and crackles a bit when Harry starts to lose signal.

"I'm gonna have to go soon, I'm getting further into Tesco's. Signal is rubbish inside."

Louis hums and Harry imagines he's probably nodding. "Okay."

"Okay." Harry repeats, slowing his trolley to a stop.

"I'll let you get back to your special offer fruit then."

Harry chuckles. "Thank you."

It's quiet for a moment, just the thin crackle of white noise down the line between them.

"I meant it about the tea, you know." Harry says eventually. "The teddy bear is optional, though."

Louis laughs lightly. "Okay."

"Okay." Harry says again, managing to stifle his laugh at how boring they've suddenly become. "I'm gonna go then. I'll see you in tomorrow's session."

"See you tomorrow." Louis chimes, something that's quite foreign to Harry's ears.

Then it's just the dial tone, and the noises of Tesco flood around him again.

 

　

***

 

　

The following couple of days pass at a decent enough pace.

Monday's rehearsal sees them finishing the first of their group routines, and as a reward, Harry buys everyone a coffee from the nearest Starbucks on their way home. Telling them all, with a grin and a wink, to ignore the calorie element of it just this once. He buys Louis tea.

Tuesday was eventful in that Niall was off sick, meaning Louis had to cover the morning shift at Vans all by himself. It was a steady flow of customers though, luckily, so he wasn't too run off his feet. And he even managed to sell a couple of pairs from the newest collection, meaning Sean may just be giving him a slight rise in pay for the month. He hates that he clings onto possibilities like that so desperately, but living in London is heavy on your wallet. And so is paying your dance teacher back for all the _stuff_ he keeps buying you.

It's Wednesday, brighter than the last, and Louis swings his way through the doors to Studio 5 and immediately claps eyes on the scene in front of him.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Harry looks up from where he's sat on the floor. His legs are crossed under him, hair pulled up in a messy bun, he's clad in all his dance clothes and almost entirely surrounded by cupcakes. Cupcakes that he's slowly managing to ice with a pale pink icing bag in his right hand.

"Oh. I got here a bit early with these and thought I'd make use of the time."

Louis scans his eyes over the sea of cakes. Harry is sitting between two sections, iced and un-iced, he notices. The iced ones look completely identical and... like flowers?

"A gazillion cupcakes is making use of the time?" Louis raises an eyebrow.

"For me, yes." Harry nods, stealing a blob of butter icing from the end of the nozzle and sucking it off of his finger.

"Do you do a lot of baking?" Louis finds himself asking, not sure why it's even that important. But icing being sucked off of fingers is something he doesn't want to concentrate on for too long, thanks.

Harry picks up a new cupcake and swirls a few circles with his icing bag, piping a perfect salmon-pink rose, and setting it down with the rest of the iced ones.

"I used to be a baker." He replies eventually. "Before I left for Russia, while I was still earning so I could travel. The scholarship didn't cover it all so I had to use some of my own income." He explains, picking up a new cake. "I didn't mind though, I enjoy it."

Louis moves over to sit beside him, studying the finished cakes more closely.

"Are they all the same flavour?"

"They're little test cakes, so no." Harry says, passing the finished cupcake to Louis. Louis frowns, not sure if he's being told to put it down with the rest, offering it to be eaten, or simple been given it to look at more closely.

He puts it down.

"I'm making Grandma Winnie's birthday cake, so I'm making sure I've got the recipe right. And there's four tiers to it, so four different flavours."

"Woah." Louis' eyes widen. "That's a lot of testing cakes."

Harry throws a grin sideways towards him, piping the icing without looking what he's doing. "That's why this is making good use of the time."

Louis laughs lightly, standing up again to drop his bag to one side.

"We always end up not dancing in my dance lessons."

"Mm, yes, it's very bad." Harry replies absently, peering closer at one of the roses he's just piped.

Louis rolls his eyes and sits down again.

"Anything I can do?" He's not sure why he's offering. Maybe it's the smell of the butter icing that's messing with his head. It does smell deliciously sweet, and they're all probably full of sugar and butter and carbs and-

"You can try one, if you'd like. I'm getting bored of taste-testing my own baking."

"Oh." Louis says, a little shocked. "You mean I've got to eat one and judge it?"

Harry nods, smiling at Louis but keeping his eyes on the next cake in his hand. "If you wouldn't mind. The quicker I get these done the sooner we can set to work on your solo for the competition. And eating slows me down."

Louis nods, reaching over to the batch of iced cakes. "Right."

"Anything you're allergic to?" Harry quickly checks, meeting Louis' eyes.

Louis pretends to think for a moment. "Only smart-arse, distracting ballet teachers."

Harry pauses, then grins, then laughs and returns to his cupcake. Louis laughs too, now holding the cake in his hand.

Harry prods at it.

"Go on, hurry up and eat it before I throw one at you."

Louis grins as he takes a bite.

 

　

***

 

　

"And lunge, good, reach... Pull in, and up, then remember to take this bit slow else you'll have too much music by the end- Good."

Louis allows himself to close his eyes, totally lost in the loud melody of Hozier's voice, rumbling through the small studio space. Totally lost in the hovering taste of rasbperry and white chocolate on his tongue. Totally lost in Harry's familiar teaching tone, deep and authoritative yet solid and safe. Losing himself in dance is not new. Losing himself how he's lost right now definitely is.

Before he realises it, he's in his finishing position, the music fading on the final note, and Harry's clapping fills his ears.

Louis straightens, heaving in lungfuls of air and shaking out his limbs a bit.

Harry's practically glowing.

"Dance it like that and you'll win." He says to him, quiet and firm and sure. "I have absolutely no doubt in you."

Louis can only nod, if a little too quickly, and smile back as best as he can.

"Today's been a good session." Harry says half an hour later, once Louis has run the routine twice more. "You've improved immensely since we began, Louis. How do you feel about it?"

Louis swallows a large mouthful of his water and presses the back of his fist to his mouth.

"Good, yeah. Good."

Harry smiles warmly. "Good."

This seems to be happening a lot, Louis has realised. They're somehow having full conversations with only one or two words. And Harry's always smiling.

"So you're making your Grandma's cake?" He says, changing the subject as soon as he can. "How are we gonna get it on the train?"

"We're not." Harry says, turning to shut off the music system and make sure his cupcakes are boxed up ready to go. He holds one box out for Louis to carry and Louis shuffles forward to help.

"We're not?" Louis asks, bending his knees as he takes the weight of the box in his arms.

"I'm driving us."

"Oh. I just assumed- Why are you driving?" Louis asks, keeping his grip on the cupcake box as he follows Harry out of the studio.

"We don't have to worry about train times and stuff then. We can leave when we want to on Monday." Harry says, his words muffled by the car key he's bitten between his teeth.

Louis nods. "Okay, yeah, that makes sense."

They make their way to the ground floor and Harry leads them out of one of the fire doors and into the carpark at the back of the building. Louis just follows along in silence.

"Okay." Harry shifts his box in his arms and grabs his key from his mouth once they reach the only car that's outside, and he presses to unlock it. The boot flies open on its own at the press of another button, and Louis barely contains his impress.

"Stick yours in here with this one and I'll run back and get the last one." Harry says, placing his box into the boot of the car.

"Okay." Louis nods, carefully placing his own beside it.

Harry disappears for a while, then comes back with the final box.

"It's all locked up." He jerks his head towards the building behind him, then nods at the car. "You can get in."

This strikes Louis suddenly.

"What?"

Harry drops the last box into the boot and pulls it to slam closed. "Get in, I'll drive you home."

"But-"

"Louis. Consider it as thanks for helping carry those downstairs for me."

"Actually, that's a point, how did you get them all upstairs by yourself?" Louis asks instead of doing as he's told.

"You can stack them when they're un-iced." Harry answers plainly. "They take up less room and I can carry most of them in one box. And I'm not above multiple trips either, as you just saw." Harry laughs. "Get in the car."

"Harry, I can just catch the-"

"Shut up and get in the car." Harry sighs as he moves round to the driver's side.

"But you keep buying me stuff and doing stuff for me and I-"

"Deserve every bit. Now get in the car." Harry cuts him off, then promptly ends the conversation by getting in himself and shutting the door.

Louis hovers outside for a moment, which prompts Harry to lower the passenger side window and lean across the gear stick towards him. "Or you could stand out there in the rain?"

Louis frowns. "It's not-"

A dull crack of thunder interrupts him and he glares at the man in the car.

The man in the car just grins and starts up the engine.

With a sigh, Louis opens the car door and slides in, just as he feels the first spot of rain hit his cheek.

"Glad I could persuade you." Harry quips, fiddling with the air-con system to switch it to heat.

"The weather persuaded me, you were just convenient." Louis mutters, watching as more raindrops land on the windscreen.

Harry throws his left arm over the back of Louis chair as he twists to look out of the rear mirror so he can reverse. Louis stays very still.

"Glad I could be convenient then." Harry says once he's done concentrating, his eyes finding Louis' with a smirk. "Buckle up."


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long car journeys and late nights make one's mental filter slightly weak. Louis never knew he could wax such poetry. Harry never knew Louis would be such a tricky passenger. Hello, Scotland. Goodbye, Sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! A LOT has happened since I was last here. I've moved away from home, into university, and have now completed my first semester. Hopefully, this means I am properly settled now, and can devote more of my time to my writing. I sincerely apologise for making you wait this long. It's really not fair of me, but due to emotional and personal reasons, I just was not in the right place to be trying to add more to this fic and it be any good. I am much better now though, and hopefully this chapter reflects that. As always, your comments are truly wonderful. I do try to reply to them all and I am aware I have missed a few so I'm about to go back and reply to those now. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one. 
> 
> :)

“You do realise that me lugging my suitcase all the way to the studio this morning is only going to arouse suspicion from the others.”

“Problem?”

Louis rolls his eyes lightly, hitching the wheels of his suitcase up onto the bus and flashing his Oyster card in the general direction of the scanning pad.

“I’m just. You know what they think already. I'm lucky so far in that-” he pauses to hoist the luggage in front of himself so he can grab a seat before the bus lurches forwards and he ends up arse over tit, “-no one’s given me shit for it. Yet. But they will. I know they will.”

“And what exactly have they got to give you shit for, hm?” Harry asks. Louis can practically _hear_ the eyebrow raise.

He falls into his seat as the bus shunts into life, and sighs.

“Well. They think there's something going on between us. And I mean, me going away with you for the break doesn't exactly debunk those kind of assumptions, does it? If they find out I'm off to see your family I'm fucked.”

Harry is chuckling.

“I think your reading way too far into this, Louis. They're your peers, they're bound to take an interest in your social life. It's natural. Dance is social therefore it's interesting by association. I'm sure you can get slightly nosey yourself, too.” He pauses to audibly grin. “And I'm their teacher, they're interested in _my_ social life because they can't help themselves. It's fun to find out what your teacher is like when they're not being your teacher. In that respect, all your friends are doing is behaving like human beings. It's entirely understandable that they're finding all of this amusing. It's like we’re their living soap opera. Especially because we, too, are associated.”

 _Associated_. Why does that sound like it means so much more than it probably does?

“So… I'm going against their human nature by disliking this?” Louis frowns, scratching at the back of the seat in front of him. There's a mark on the metal backrest.

“Not at all.” Harry’s baritone is assuring. “Disliking a breach of your privacy is human nature too. You're entirely within your rights to be against their nosiness, of course you are.”

“So, what then? There's nothing I can do because we're all just being humans and everything is natural and as it should be?” He scoffs, not really putting his heart into it. “That was both annoyingly enlightening and entirely unhelpful.”

Harry laughs harder.

“Sorry, Lou, I can only offer the truths.”

Louis ignores the nickname in favour of arguing a bit more.

“To be honest, certain occurrences involving their nosey human nature _could_ be avoided.” He says, eyes falling on his stop in the distance, fingers pressing the button for the driver. “Like maybe, _not_ dragging my suitcase to the session with me today.”

“It's easier this way, means we can get off straight away. So, no. Unavoidable.” Harry counters. “And hurry up, it's almost time to start. Where are you?”

“I’m dragging my bloody suitcase to the session with me, that's what!” Louis shouts, wiggling his way towards the exit door of the bus. “My technique for negotiating luggage through rush-hour London transport needs sharpening. My sincerest apologies.” He quips, sarcasm more than evident in his tone.

“We can work on that then. You know how I feel about the importance of technique.” Harry says, almost matter-of-factly, and Louis nearly curses at him.

“Shut up.”

Harry chuckles again.

“Just get here as soon as you can. I'll let these guys stretch and warm up and if you text me when you get here I'll come out and help you get the case in my car. No point hauling it all the way inside.”

Louis could hang up on him, he really could.

“No one’s gonna see my case anyway then?” He manages, yanking it through a particularly sticky puddle.

“No one’s gonna see your case anyway. I really don't know what you were so worried about.”

“Unbelievable.”

Harry laughs louder. “See you in a tick.”

“Yeah, whatever. Bye.”

“Bye, Louis.”

 

***

 

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Harry says at quarter past six when he's pulling out into the road with Louis grouching in his passenger seat. They added an extra two hours onto today’s session to make up for the week they were about to miss. Some of the group needed the extra time, Louis had noticed. “No one knew, no one cared.”

“Yeah, Perrie was still giving me looks.” Louis mumbles, arms crossed.

“Oi. Stop it now.” Harry checks his mirror as he speeds up down the road and shifts gear. “Relax. We've got a whole week off. Time to not care what others think of you, got it?”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Have you forgotten where you're taking me?”

Harry laughs as they slow towards a junction and Louis sits up further in his seat.

“You're driving me to another _country_. To meet your _family_. How can I possibly fucking relax?”

Harry glances over at him then returns his attention to the road. He flicks his tongue out to wet his lips.

“This means a lot to you.”

Louis is struck silent for a moment. Ice suddenly poured down his back, frozen.

“What?” He manages after a beat, pretending to be more interested in the passing fields of sheep. When they got changed ready for the drive Harry chose to put on ridiculously skinny jeans again. Louis’ window is the best place for his eye-line.

“This.” Harry clarifies. “Coming with me. It's important to you that it goes well.” It's not a question.

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Well, of course it is. Can't have me making a gigantic tit of meself in front of your _entire_ extended family, can I?”

“But why not?” Harry smiles, amused. He shrugs with his hands on the wheel. “It's only me. It's only my family.”

Harry's tone implies he knows more than he thinks Louis is aware of. Louis doesn't like it.

“Well, yes.” He stalls. “Exactly, so…”

The sentence goes unfinished. Harry joins a dual carriageway and speeds up.

“I'm just your teacher.” He shrugs one shoulder again.

Louis nods.

“You're just my teacher, yep. Exactly. That's it.”

“Well, also your sort-of-friend. But my family’s opinion of you is important because…?” Harry attempts to prompt him. “Why _does_ it matter what they-”

“It doesn't, alright? It doesn't. Just drop it now. Leave it.” Louis sighs, head still turned to his window. He can see Harry glancing at him every so often in the wing mirror.

“Well, it obviously _does_ matter because you just said-”

“Harry, shut up. Stop it. I really don't want to go into it, alright? I've made my opinion on this quite clear, I don't-”

“But-”

“I don't want to have this discussion.” Louis pauses, his sharp demand hanging in the air like thick smoke. He does well not to choke on it. “You think you know what I'm going to say and you don't. You just don't, okay? There's so much more to it than what you're thinking so just…” He sighs, wincing, already talking about it too much. “Just _don't_.”

Harry is silent then, only the sounds of the road beneath them are heard for a good three or four seconds.

“Okay?” Louis asks, sighing into his chair.

Harry nods, checking his right mirror before moving to change lanes.

“Okay.”

“ _Okay_.”

 

***

 

It's another forty or so minutes, and they're on the motorway with the radio the only thing filling the silence, when Harry leans down to switch off the music, successfully grabbing Louis’ attention.

“So.”

Louis tries not to let his voice waver. “So?”

Harry checks his mirror, flicks his left indicator on, and drifts easily over into the slip-road exit lane.

“Are you one of those people _totally_ against stopping on long journeys or can we go and get drinks?”

Louis laughs a little too heartily, his relief much too obvious when he breathes, “Yeah, yeah sure. Good idea.” He clears his throat to try and dispel it.

They pull up to the entrance of the services’ car park and slow, crawling between rows to find a space, and as Harry steers them into an empty one with one hand, the other gently lands just above Louis’ knee.

Louis nearly physically startles.

“Hey.” Harry says softly. “You said to drop it, so I've dropped it. I'd never make you talk about something you didn't want to talk about, alright?”

He’s serious, and Louis can only nod, Harry leaning a little too close, his eyes a little too sincere.

With a parting squeeze to his leg, Harry removes his hand and smiles.

“Okay.” He then turns off the engine and pockets his keys. With a beckoning jerk of his head, he meets Louis’ eyes again. “Starbucks?”

 

***

 

“Hi, can I have a large green tea to go, and…” Harry looks at Louis.

“Oh, um, you don't have to-” A shake of Harry’s head shuts him up. “Err- a medium English Breakfast tea, please. To go, too.” He asks quietly.

“I'm sorry, we don't have any breakfast teabags left. Only green tea.” The cashier looks wholly apologetic, a wince tugging her mouth downwards. “I'm sorry.” She says again.

“No, it's okay. Um,” he coughs once, glancing at Harry for half a second, “a medium hot chocolate then please.” Louis amends.

“Cream and marshmallows?” She asks, her sunny blonde hair tied up in a neat knot on her head. She waits with her pen poised above the takeaway cup.

“Err yes, please. Just cream thanks.”

Harry’s eyebrows flash to his hairline but he says nothing, just gives their names and pays. They move to wait for their drinks at the end of the till.

“Cream?” Harry asks, leaning one hip against the counter and smirking down at Louis.

“Yeah, it's the only allowance I give myself. Not including when I'm so skint I have to buy noodles for lunch or my teacher buys me a panini from Costa.”

Harry gasps, jaw dropping, eyes comically wide.

“We're in _Starbucks_! You can't say the _C_ -word here! They’re the _enemy_!”

Louis cackles unattractively, a hand crushing against his mouth, eyes crinkling. When he stops and sucks in a breath, he sees that Harry's grinning, laughing too.

“No but seriously, that's all you give yourself? Cream on your hot chocolates?” Harry folds his arms, shifting his weight on his feet.

Louis nods.

“And you only have hot chocolate when there's no tea?”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah.”

Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then moves away from the counter and back towards the cashier. Louis can't hear what he's saying, but he's pointing to the cake display and handing over his card again, so Louis can take an educated guess.

By the time Harry returns to him, Louis’ got his hands on his hips.

“What did you just buy?” He asks, his tone every bit like an exasperated elderly wife who’s had enough of her husband’s attempts at jokes. And where did that come from?

Harry just smiles and leans past him to pick up their drinks and hand one to Louis. The paper bags clutched in his grip are the only answer Louis gets. Damn this man and his big hands.

Once they're back in the car, Louis takes the lid off his cup and is scooping cream onto the tip of his finger when Harry plops one of the paper bags in his lap. He looks over at him, wet finger slipping out of his mouth to grab the bag. Once he's discarded his lid, Louis manages to peek inside using one hand, and turns back to Harry.

“Muffins?”

Harry nods, sipping from his green tea.

“Blueberry to be exact. I took the liberty of assuming you liked them.”

“I do, but.” Louis frowns. “Why?”

Harry sticks his drink into the cup holder and balances his own muffin bag in his lap as he starts up the engine and shifts into reverse.

“Because you need to lighten up on your restrictions.” He says. “A life restricted is a life not lived.” He meets Louis’ eyes as he turns to look out the back window, his arm stretched across the back of the older man’s chair as he twists. He smiles.

Louis frowns, eyes flicking down to Harry’s mouth and back up again.

“Says he who went to a prestigious ballet school and was probably told the exact opposite of that.” He raises both eyebrows.

Harry grins. “I did go to a prestigious ballet school.” He nods, reversing the car slowly. “In Russia.” He hums. “And the Russians make fucking good pastries.”

Louis nearly chokes on his first mouthful of hot chocolate, sipping it past the cream and jolting forward when he laughs.

Harry smirks, finishes reversing and shifts back into first gear so they can get going. Before he moves though, he nudges Louis, who’s poking in his muffin bag.

“You've got cream on your nose.”

 

***

 

Louis falls asleep an hour or so later. It's properly dark by now, the inky sky blanketing the motorway in wet darkness, headlights gleaming into puddles and blurring the droplets of rain on the windscreen as they get smeared out by the wipers. The radio is on, though quietly, and Louis is curled up in on himself, left arm folded under his head against the edge of the window.

Harry keeps one eye on the road ahead as he reaches round behind Louis’ chair where his hoodie from this mornings’ dance session is folded on the back seat.

“Hey,” he tries, voice quiet and gentle to not startle his sleeping passenger too much. “Louis, take this.”

“M’uh?” Louis’ eyes peek open and he blinks hard a few times, smacks his lips and makes to sit up. “ _Fuck_ , my neck.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles, eyes ahead but still holding the hoodie out for Louis to take. “Use this under your head, it'll be more comfortable.”

“You sure?” Louis asks, but he takes it anyway and fluffs it up in his hands a bit. Harry nods, still concentrating on his driving, and Louis stuffs the hoodie between his arm and face without another word.

Harry smiles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel in time to Neil Diamond.

 

***

 

“Two hours.”

“Mm?”

Louis swallows his mouthful and repeats, “Two hours.”

Harry frowns, coffee inches from his waiting mouth, “Until?”

“No.” Louis puts his granola bar down. “Two hours longer, the drive is.”

Harry still looks clueless.

“Than a train journey.” Louis adds, frustrated. “ _Driving_ to Edinburgh takes two hours longer than the train. My conclusion: you're mental.”

“That's offensive, don't use that word.” Harry immediately snaps out. “I'm silly, I'm strange, I’m misinformed. I'm not ‘mental’, because some people actually are and its offensive to use that term as a substitute for-”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry.” Louis cuts him off. “Sorry. Won't use it again.”

Harry just nods and takes a mouthful of coffee.

The service station café is a nameless little corner establishment between a WHSmiths and a Burger King. Neither of them were particularly fussed about where they stopped for food, but Harry was adamant he needed coffee, complaining his eyes were fighting to close. Louis’d stopped walking at the first coffee-selling place they came to.

“It's still daft though. You're tiring yourself out driving all that way for so long, just so we can go home when we want to.”

Harry just shrugs one shoulder, picking at his salmon sandwich with a nonplussed expression.

“I can sleep when we get there. Mum’ll understand.” He says. “And if anything she'll probably encourage that we lay in tomorrow too. Before we start helping her prep for the party.”

Louis chuckles lightly. “Sounds like my mum.”

“I hear they can be quite alike, mothers.”

Louis laughs again.

“Where next then?” He asks after a beat, playing with his granola bar wrapper in his fingers. “How much further?”

“Probably about three hours. Maybe. If it's a clear run.”

“You're expecting Britain’s motorways to be clear, wow.” Louis laughs. “That's quite a bit of optimism.”

Harry grins, draining his coffee and shrugging again.

“I'm an optimist.”

 

***

 

Turns out the optimism was wasted.

“I fucking hate traffic.”

“Just think of something else. I’m in control of the snail’s-pace crawling,” Harry gestures to the tailback ahead and behind them. “-occupy yourself with your imagination. Rehearse your routine, even.”

“In a _car_?” Louis makes a face.

“In your _head_.” Harry corrects. Louis’ face does a bigger thing involving eye rolling and his forehead colliding with the window.

“ _I fucking hate traffic_.”

“Yeah, you did mention that.”

“Well clearly I haven’t mentioned it _enough_ because you're not doing anything _about_ it.” Louis mumbles.

Harry gapes. “Like I can?!”

It's almost laughable. Louis is pouting.

“All I'm saying is you could at least _try_ …” He's scratching at a smudge of something on the outside of the glass in front is his face.

“You're insufferable sometimes.” Harry shakes his head, letting the car crawl forward an inch.

“ _You're_ insufferable sometimes.” Louis repeats like a child, then folds his arms and closes his eyes, doesn't say anything else.

 

***

 

“Am I on the hands-free system, love? Can you hear me? Am I on speaker? Where abouts are you?”

“Mum, which one of those would you like me to answer first?” Harry chuckles, fingers scratching at his eyebrow. “Yes, yes, yes and we’re roughly just under two hours away. Got caught in a job load of stop-start tailbacks earlier.”

“That's okay, love. You'll get here when you get here.” Anne sing-songs. It's strange, not her usual tactic when he's running late to something. Especially family-related. Harry narrows his eyes. “Um, so I'm on speakerphone?”

Ah. There it is.

“Yes, Mum, Louis can hear you quite well.”

“Hi, Mrs Styles!” Louis calls, grinning.

“Oh! Hello, Louis, dear! It's lovely to meet you- or- well, hear you!” Her laughter tinkles into the car and pushes Louis’ grin wider.

“You too!”

“And call me Anne, love. Mrs Styles makes me sound like an old woman.”

“You are an old woman.” Harry quips, checking his mirror and changing lanes as his mum squawks.

“You cheeky bastard!”

But she's laughing with it, which lets Louis’ know he can laugh too.

“Well anyway, H. I was just calling to find out how you were getting on and to ask whether you'll be wanting something to eat when you get here or do you think you'll stop and get something on the way?”

Harry looks at Louis.

Louis shrugs. “I don't know! I'm not the driver!”

Harry smiles. “No, but how hungry are you? Think you can manage these next two hours without food or shall we stop? I'm leaving it up to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you're my guest.”

Oh. That's. It's nice, but there's also something Louis doesn't like about it. And he can't quite figure out what that is.

“Um. Well, I’m fine. I can wait the two hours, easy.” He nods. “That is, as long as it's okay with you, Anne?” He thinks to check.

“Of course it is! I look forward to properly meeting you, Louis! Harry has told me great things!”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Has he now?”

Anne laughs again.

“Indeed. I'll leave that with you two though.” She pauses. Harry is rolling his eyes and looking only at the road. “Cheerio, my lovelies! See you soon!”

“Bye, Mum. See you later.”

“Bye, Anne!”

Harry presses to hang up and then shifts gear to join the exit slip road.

Louis lets the silence settle until they pull up to stop at a large roundabout. It's heavy, tense, and Louis’ grinning.

“So, am I the topic of a lot of your conversations with your mother?”

“She was exaggerating. I maybe mentioned you twice, thrice at most.”

“Ooh, thrice. That's posh. Three times?”

“Three times.” Harry nods. “It was always about your dancing and she always read more into it than I was implying.” He pauses to shake his head as they pull out into the roundabout. “I should've known she'd shit-stir.”

Louis is laughing, head rolled to look out the window.

“I think it's cute.”

Harry frowns. “That I talk about you?”

Louis’ head almost snaps right off, whipping round to look at Harry.

“So you do talk about me?”

“No, I-” Harry struggles. “Three times. It was three _bloody_ times.”

Louis’ laughing again.

“And no, I meant your relationship with your mum is cute.” He says a minute later, watching the cars around them out his window.

“Oh.” Harry nods, negotiating them back onto a different motorway. “You get on well with your parents then or-?”

“Don't know me dad. Never have. Don't care.” Louis dismisses. “As for me mum, we get on alright, I suppose. She's really busy with the girls now, and the twins. I ring her occasionally. She knows me too well and we often end up thinking the same thing. It's like, we'd probably be a lot closer if I still lived near her, type thing. If that makes sense?” Harry nods. “Yeah. So it's good, but I guess I don't talk to her often enough. S’my fault, really.”

Harry doesn't say anything, just nods again and switches lanes to overtake a slow Ford.

“Could be worse then.” He says eventually.

“Could be worse.” Louis nods, agreeing.

“I'm glad you get on okay with your mum. Means you have someone to talk to when you need it. Even if that's not often enough.” Harry mumbles, voice nearly drowned completely out by the road noise. Louis wonders whether he meant to say any of that aloud. He lets it go and doesn't comment.

Hozier comes on the radio then and Louis grins, reaching to turn it up.

“Don't disturb me for the next three minutes, I'm dancing.”

Harry chuckles. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Arriving in Scotland nearly draws Louis’ breath completely out of his body.

Harry is negotiating the car down winding, wood-trimmed roads, the trees either side standing tall and bowing their heads, laced branches blocking the view of the stars that Louis is certain they’d be able to count if they wanted to.

“Gorgeous isn’t she?”

Harry’s voice cuts into the awestruck white noise thrumming inside Louis’ head and he nods, craning his neck against the window to try and look above them.

“Mm, very. Can’t see the stars though.”

“I’ll show you the stars eventually.” Harry chuckles. “Got to get us there first.”

 _I’ll show you the stars_. It’s very poetic, Louis thinks. But then maybe his tired brain is getting mixed up with something about bringing someone the stars. Or _buying_ them? Giving them? Whatever. Either way it’s probably something he should be grateful for.

“Thanks.”

Harry shifts gear and lets his hand linger on the stick a touch longer than usual. His little finger twitches.

“No problem.”

 

***

 

When they finally arrive at Harry’s parents’ house, Louis actually voices his feelings.

“Fucking Nora.”

Harry proceeds to bark a laugh so sudden and so loud it makes Louis’ jump. He kind of doesn’t want to cause him to do that ever again. He also kind of does.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Harry wipes at his right eye. “Again. She’s gorgeous.” He nods at the house. “Come on, Mum’ll spot us soon and come running outside. I’ll get the bags, you go and knock.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s not nerve-wracking at all. Go and knock on the stranger’s house, Louis. Go and introduce yourself to my mum on your own, Louis. Go say hello and trip over the welcome mat, Louis-”

“Shut the bloody hell up and get _on_ with it, Louis.” Harry provides, a single eyebrow raised.

Louis looks at him a moment, his broad frame turned sideways towards him, reaching into the boot of the car to grab the suitcases, then he turns and heads towards the house with a teeny little huff.

Harry, for Louis’ dignity’s sake, pretends not to hear it.

 

***

 

“Oh, it really is so lovely to meet you, Louis.” Anne is glowing. In every way a human being can possibly glow. She’s all soft wrinkle lines by her eyes and shiny hands and fresh cotton.

“You too, Anne. I can’t believe Harry invited me to such a private occasion. I hope your mother won’t mind that I’m here?” Louis asks, going for polite and probably coming across as more paranoid.

“Are you kidding?” Anne laughs, hands bracketing her mug of tea. “She’ll love to meet you. And don’t worry, I’ve already explained everything to her-” she pauses to glance at Harry for a beat, who’s brow flickers into a frown at her eye contact, but Anne continues with her gaze back on Louis, “-she understands perfectly.”

“Understands what?” Harry asks, but it’s at that moment that two more people come bustling into the kitchen wrapped up in layers and layers of coats and scarves and gloves.

“Bleeding hell, this is a far cry from the Greek island I was photographing last week.”

“That’s because it’s Scotland, Gemma. And it is winter. Though, I’m sure if you ask nicely, Harry’ll jig about to Zorba the Greek for you.” Robin chides from his place behind the kitchen island at Anne’s side. He’s cleaning barbecue utensils with a tea towel.

“I’m actually tempted.” Gemma meets Harry’s eyes with a grin. “Little Brother.”

“Big Sister.” Harry replies as she comes closer, slinging an arm around her waist and tugging her in for a hug. His other arm wraps completely around her shoulders, his height towering above her, and she’s laughing and hugging back, but also complaining about being unable to breathe.

“Christ- at least- let me get my Arctic kit off first.”

Louis’ not sure if she’s even joking.

“Gemma, love, this is Louis. Harry’s friend.”

“Oh shit, you actually exist.” Gemma gapes, pausing halfway in pulling her scarf from around her neck. She snaps her head to Anne, then to Harry, then back to Anne and finally to Louis. “Oh my _god_ ,” She removes her scarf and gloves and puts them on the kitchen island, tucks her hair behind both ears and shoves a hand out for Louis to shake. “I am _so_ sorry, I honestly thought you were either a figment of my mother’s imagination or a poorly-crafted lie.”

Well. That’s. That’s a new one. He’s never been called that before.

“I’m afraid I’m a simple, boring human. Neither figment, nor lie.” Louis takes her hand and shakes it. “But it’s lovely to meet you, Gemma.”

“Oh fuck, has he been talking about me?” She drops his hand. “The story about the Dawson twins is _not_ fucking true, I was never even anywhere near the paddling pool so anything he’s told you is bullshit.”

Um.

“I-”

“For god’s sake, Gem. He knows your name and the fact that you write. That’s it, leave him alone.” Harry sighs.

“Babe, did you put my phone in your pocket?” Someone else is saying, and Louis’ eyes fall on the fourth new person he’s met in the space of twenty minutes.

“Uh,” Gemma pats her coat down. “Yeah, I’ve got it.” She pulls out a mobile and passes it to the man hovering slightly behind her. “Oh! Louis, this is Chris, my boyfriend. Chris, Louis.” She introduces him with a bright-eyed, soft-lipped smile.

“Hey mate.” Chris says, lifting a hand in a wave.

“Nice to meet you.” Louis returns the gesture, smiles warmly, and lifts his mug to his lips.

“Right. I hate to be a party pooper, Harry, love, but I’m heading to bed.” Anne says. “Way past my bed time, and I’ve got to be up early to start decorating the other room.” She starts standing up out of her stool and moves to set her empty mug by the sink.

“No worries, Mum. Have a good sleep.” Harry leans in to kiss her cheek as she passes him. Robin begins putting his utensils away.

“Oh, and before I forget. I’ve done up the bed in the bigger spare room for you two. Gem and Chris can have the smaller one. I figured Louis would appreciate the ensuite, save him trotting about on the landing in his towel!” She laughs so brightly Louis’ eyes actually squint.

And sorry, what?

Harry clears his throat.

“Um, right. Okay.” He’s not looking at Louis. “Thanks.”

“Not at all, darling. Sleep well, my lovelies!” Anne blows a kiss into the kitchen before disappearing out the door with Robin following closely behind.

 

***

 

“I am _so_ _sorry_.”

Louis is actually surprised at how apologetic Harry sounds. As soon as they’re inside the bigger spare room with the door closed, Harry has turned to him with the softest eyes he’s ever seen him with.

“I honestly had no idea she’d put us in the same room. She’s a fucking _nightmare_ , been on about our relationship ever since I first mentioned you and now she’s gone and done this and-” Harry cuts himself off and Louis catches glimpses of anger starting to bubble through the sorrow. “I’m so annoyed at her. She thinks she knows more about me than I do. And she goes and pulls shit like this- Look,” he pushes a hand through his hair, “you can have the bed. I’ll grab some blankets from the airing cupboard and I’ll take the floor. We’ve got underfloor heating, I’ll be fine.”

“Woah, Harry.” Louis stops Harry from leaving with a single hand to his elbow. He’s barely touching him, but just that gesture stops the younger man in his tracks. “Before you get yourself worked up, I’m not angry. Okay? And there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re not? But-”

“I’m not angry.” He clarifies. “And therefore it’s not fair that you are.”

Harry blinks, confused. “But she’s put us in one room. With one bed.” His eyes flick towards said bed for a second, then back to Louis. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Louis actually sets himself back a little, shocked. “Does it bother you?”

“What? No- That’s not- I mean, I meant ‘cause you were saying how you were nervous about- It doesn’t-” He sighs, a little defeated. “It doesn’t matter.”

Louis’ fingers at Harry’s elbow skim upwards and curl loosely around his bicep, then squeeze just once, just barely. “Something does though. What’s wrong?”

Harry looks down at Louis’ hand on his arm, then back at Louis, then off to the side.

“It’s-… You’re okay about sharing a room with me?”

Louis drops his hand.

“Jesus, way to make me sound like I’ve viciously _hurt_ you. Why _wouldn’t_ I be okay with that? What’s wrong with you? Do you snore?” He doesn’t get a response, only the tiniest quirk at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Do you sleepwalk? Fuck. Do you sleep like a _bat_? What is it?”

Harry is laughing now, really quietly and it’s barely tugging at his mouth but it’s there. He visibly relaxes, moving slightly further into the room, away from the door.

“No, I just… Didn’t know how you felt.”

“I’ve shared a room with a boy before.” Louis rolls his lips into his mouth, nodding. “Ironically enough it was the girls my mum wouldn’t let sleep over.” Louis laughs. “It was ace.” He laughs again. “Until she found out of course and then it all changed. But yes. I’m totally fine with sharing this bedroom space with you, Harry. We’ve got an ensuite we can use for any privacy we need. And if you’re completely sure about sleeping on the floor then we have enough sleeping space too.”

He doesn’t mention that, technically, the bed takes two.

Harry nods, looking a lot more comfortable than he did.

“Okay. As long as you’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” Louis nods once, then for good measure, adds a reassuring wink. He doesn’t miss the tiny movement at Harry’s jawline.

Harry nods again. “Good. Okay.”

Louis can’t help but grin, incredibly amused.

“So… bed then?”

“Bed. You can get changed here while I go and grab those blankets.” He reaches out and pats Louis once on the arm. “Back in a tick.”

Once Harry’s gone, Louis sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, then blows it out of his lips. Looking around the room, he can finally take in the décor and furnishings. The theme is very cottagey. Anne said this was the bigger of the two spare rooms so Louis can only imagine the size of where Harry’s sister is sleeping, because the ceiling in here swoops down diagonally, pinching out into a small single-paned window that looks out onto the roof outside and just that alone makes the space feel quite petite. It’s cosy though, thick carpets and deep purple bedding and curtains. It gives the room a dark feel, but with both bedside lamps already on – probably Anne – the room is bathed in a sleepy sort of golden glow, the end of the room where the ensuite door sits slightly crooked in the wall is untouched by the light, and Louis feels it all works, actually. It’s really very nice.

He then remembers Harry will be back any second and quickly starts to strip, rifling through his suitcase for his toiletries, opting to sleep in his boxers rather than his pyjama trousers that are currently at the bottom of his bag. Great packing, Louis.

By the time Harry returns with an armful of thick woollen blankets, Louis is already tucked up in the bed, feet not reaching the end and body taking up less than half. He’s propped his head up on the pillows and is flicking through his phone, frowning.

“No bloody signal here.” He mumbles as Harry pads across the carpet.

He snorts and drops the blankets.

“Sorry. M’afraid I shall have to be your main source of entertainment. This area is rubbish for network service of any kind.” He explains, then tucks his fingers up under the hem of his t-shirt and yanks it all the way off in one movement.

And Louis curses the bedside lamps, completely retracting everything nice he ever said about them. They’re awful, they’re evil, they’re brutishly wicked.

Because Harry looks ethereal.

The muscles of his arms and shoulders shift, like ripples across silk, as he tugs the material off of his wrists, pecs pushed slightly together and his abdomen bunching a little. The light from the lamp bathes him in liquid gold, casting shadows in all the right places and painting Harry as altogether _edible_. Louis’ never seen the man like this, like he could twinkle into nothing but stardust if Louis were to touch him with nought but a fingertip. He hopes, for his own sanity’s sake, that he never sees him like this again. For fear of what he might do.

“Did your phone die? There’s a plug socket over on the other side of the bed if you want to plug it in.” Harry points, raising a gold-dipped arm in the direction he’s referring to, a tiny peek of armpit hair visible in the space at the top of the length of his body and Louis wants to bite down on something save spouting words he may regret.

And why is Harry asking about his phone? What? Oh.

“Um.” Louis looks down to where his screen has automatically darkened due to a full two minutes with no use. Was he really staring at Harry for two full minutes? Shit. “Yeah,” he has to fake it, sliding his legs out so he can stand. “-thanks.”

Harry just smiles as warm as ever, then goes about folding up his shirt.

He _folds_ his dirty clothes…

Louis retrieves his charger from his suitcase swiftly and turns to head back towards the bed.

Harry is still wearing his jeans, but he’s unbuttoned them, and his bent at the middle trying to sort the blankets out. His open fly shifts to open _further_ with his movements.

Louis looks everywhere except Harry after that.

He plugs his phone in, sets it on the nightstand on the left side of the bed, switches off that lamp, and then crawls up and back over to the right to settle back in under the covers. It seems that in this time Harry has disappeared into the ensuite. The sliver of light from under the wooden door is the giveaway. Oh, that and the absence of Harry.

“So you were saying you’ll have to be my entertainment for the week?” Louis calls out, voice only slightly wavered, hoping it carries through somehow anyway. 

“Mhmm.” Harry pulls the door open, light washing him out from behind so that Louis can only make out his outline. He’s grateful, actually, because Harry is now only in his pants, one arm raised with fingers gripping what is probably a toothbrush in his mouth, the other braced up against the lintel, his tapered, sculpted side silhouetted.

Louis’ breathing is heavily controlled.

Harry steps into the room again, heading over to his suitcase and bending at the middle to rummage through it, toothbrush gripped in his lips. Louis becomes very interested in the duvet cover across his lap.

“Why? Got any ideas?” Harry chimes, and if Louis’ looked up he’d probably be smirking.

_Oh, so many._

“Your stepdad mentioned Zorba the Greek?” He says instead, looking up this time to catch Harry’s reaction.

Harry laughs around his brush, standing up straight with a flannel in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.

“You can fuck right off.” He says, muffled by his toothbrush.

Louis grins, then pulls a face. “Shame. You’d look good in a toga.”

“Would I now?” Harry asks, completely disbelieving. He heads back into the bathroom but keeps the door open. Louis watches, wiggling his feet under the duvet absently, as Harry brushes his teeth and washes his face, then switches the light off and comes back through into the room carrying his folded jeans. “A toga will probably be the most clothing you’ve seen me in. Are you trying to tell me something?” He’s smirking, long fingers scratching at his bare hip, waistband of his underwear dipping dangerously low.

_Yes. Please keep your clothes on when in front of me._

“Not at all.” Louis says instead, swallowing. “Okay for me to turn the light off?”

It’s off before Harry even has time to answer.


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day in Scotland turns out to be eventful. The house needs decorating for the party and Harry decides to show Louis the lake. Well, those are the events in their barest forms. One might say things lie in the spoken word that aren't necessarily spoken themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you enjoy this one. For some reason it feels different to the other chapters. Maybe you can tell me why. :)

There’s something pushing against Louis’ thigh. Nudging. Repetitive.

He spares only enough conscious effort with which to slide his leg away from the nudging before he’s slowly slipping back under the low-hanging cloud of sleep. But seconds later, the nudging returns.

He grumbles, brow creasing as his heavy eyes beg him not to open them just yet, sticky with tiredness. He reluctantly does so anyway, squinting into the dimly-lit room, aware of where he is suddenly.

Scotland. The Styles’. Ah, yes.

Wait.

He’s still only facing the smooth expanse of the ceiling, and the nudging and pushing at his leg is still there. So he cranes his neck upwards, wincing at the discomfort, the complaining of a muscle that’s still trying to be asleep. Well, tough. We’re all awake now.

And it’s a cat. The nudging.

Could’ve been worse.

Louis’ never really had much experience with animals, was never allowed pets growing up, too harmful for the little ones. So right now, he’s slightly hesitant about what to do. Just by standing at his leg and nudging him with its tiny little head, this cat seems to suddenly be in charge of the whole room. Cats are weird.

“Harry…” Louis tries, slowly trying to shift up the bed to sit up without disturbing his new furry friend. “Harry.”

Nothing. Louis lifts his chin, peering as far as he can across the length of the bed without moving too much. He can just see the edges of Harry’s blanket-bed, neatly folded and unmoving.

He’s not here then. Marvellous.

“Um…” He looks at the cat again. “Hi.”

 

 

***

 

 

“And I told Martha, she can come dressed in fancy dress all she likes, if she thinks Mum’ll enjoy it, but there’s no way I’m joining in. If you think you’ll catch me _dead_ in neon you can think again.” Anne is shaking her head, making a meal out of wiping down the kitchen worktops. Her fluffy white dressing gown is tied tightly around her middle, and her matching slippers slap across the tiles whenever she moves to wet the cloth again.

Harry sits perched at the island on a stool, sipping from a cup of tea and every now and then flicking his eyes to the spare one beside him. Maybe he should just take it upstairs to-

“Morning everyone.”

“Louis, darling! Did you sleep well? Oh, gosh, there’s really no need for you to have gotten dressed! We’re a comfy-morning sort of household, we are! And there’s certainly no need to be polite, my love. Dressing gowns are one of the best inventions ever. Harry’s made you a cuppa, do you want to come and sit down?”

Anne is truly a flurry of activity the second Louis appears. In the space of her speech, she’s dropped the dish cloth back into the sink, hurried over to where Louis is standing – admittedly and understandably a bit bewildered – hugged him around the shoulders and lead him over to the island where Harry sits, watching.

“Um, yeah, thanks.” Louis meets Harry’s eyes and nods, a small smile. It’s strange, how reserved he is this morning, but Harry brushes over it and smiles back warmly over the rim of his mug. He’s aware of how his hair is in sleepy disarray, but doesn’t much care, curls are curls and there’s not much to be done with them.

“Good sleep?”

 

//

 

“Good sleep?”

Louis reaches for his cup and wraps his fingers around it, relishing in the warmth is sends up his arms and across his neck, all the way down his back. It’s a bit like a hug.  

“Yeah, thanks. Made a new friend this morning too.”

Harry lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Louis sips his tea slowly. “Mhm. Your cat.”

“Oh! Dusty!” Harry grins. “I wondered where she was last night when we got here. Must’ve been out. Did she jump on the bed with you? Sorry, she always does that with me, she must’ve thought-”

“No, it’s fine, it’s alright. I mean, I’ve not had much experience with animals but I petted her a bit then I got up to get dressed and she sort of got bored, I think, and left.” He sips again. “You left the door open when you got up, that’s how she got in.”

“Oops, sorry.” Harry winces, though he doesn’t look totally apologetic. “I guess I’m not used to leaving someone asleep.”

“Mm?” Louis frowns, confused.

“You got dressed.” Harry changes the subject.

Louis looks down at himself, rubs his socked toes together where they don’t quite reach the floor. The stools are high. High-ish. Whatever.

“I didn’t- I’m not used to- I’ve never been here before, I thought I’d spare your family the sight of me in my underwear and dressing gown.”

Harry hums. “You say that as though it would be a negative.”

Louis blinks at him. “It wouldn’t?”

But Harry doesn’t answer, because Anne is clattering about inside the oven and drops a metal tray to the floor with a loud crash.  

“Oh, bollocks. I’ll have to wash that one again now.”

Harry sets his mug down on the island.

“Don’t be daft, Mum, it was on the floor for about three seconds. And knowing you, this floor was bleached yesterday.”

Anne’s silence says it all.

“Do you want me to start some breakfast?” Her son offers, sliding down from the stool and rounding the island towards her. He places a comforting hand on the centre of her back and leans in to kiss her temple. “Don’t start getting stressed yet, the party isn’t until tomorrow.”

Louis watches from the other side of his mug as Anne nods, leans into Harry’s touch and takes a deep breath. She slides the tray back into the oven and closes it up.

“I think I’m going to go and get dressed now, actually. Robin’s mowing the lawn ready for tomorrow, Gem and Chris are still in their room. But if you could do some eggs and bacon, maybe. I’m sure they’ll come down when they smell it.”

Harry nods.

“Thanks, love.” Anne smiles, eyes crinkling and dimples deepening her cheeks. She nods again, then turns and disappears into the hallway.

“So.” Harry picks up a tea towel and slings it over one shoulder, popping his hip and flicking his hair out of his face dramatically. He’s wearing the boxers that he slept in, but he’s had the decency at least to put yesterday’s shirt on over his top half. Even if it _is_ entirely unbuttoned. “Bacon time.”

“You’ll burn yourself dressed like that.” Louis comments, pulling a face and trying his best to ignore the place where the bottom of Harry’s boxer shorts become toned thighs.

“What?” Harry says, plucking a wooden spatula from the utensils pot in the corner.

“Your shirt’s all undone. One bit of temperamental bacon and you’ll be spit at by burning fat.” Louis explains, sipping his tea.

Harry smirks, pointing the spatula at Louis. “Ah, but I have a method.”

Louis rolls his eyes, which prompts Harry to laugh.

“You can do the eggs though, Tomlinson.” He points to the fridge. “Just do a load of scrambled, that should be fine, they all like scrambled.”

Louis lifts his chin, putting his mug down. “And if I _don’t_ like scrambled?”

Harry levels his look with a shrug. “You won’t be having any eggs then.” Another eye roll prompts another laugh. “Come on, we’ve got toast to do as well yet.” 

 

 

***

 

 

“So then. _Chris_.” Harry says, taking a seat at the garden table beside his sister.

Gemma grins.

“So then. _Louis_.”

“Ahah, no. Don’t even start.” Harry lifts a finger, dismissing her train of intent immediately.

“Oh, can’t I? Just a little bit?” Gemma pleads, much like a toddler wanting sweets.

Harry laughs.

“ _No_. It’s not like that.”

Gemma sighs heavily, overdoing it, then stops, playing with the rim of her coffee mug.

“Does he know that?” She asks after a beat.

“What? Harry frowns, meeting her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Louis. Does _he_ know that it’s not like that?”

“I’m…Well, I can’t read minds, Gem, but I’m pretty sure, yeah. It seems a bit daft for us to be on different pages, you know. And why would we be? I don’t think either of us are lying to the other.”

“Mm, but are you? On the same page, I mean.” She looks at him, like she’s just watching for his reaction be it verbal or physical or both.

Harry looks at her for a beat longer.

“You’re so bloody cryptic.” He huffs it out as a laugh, wondering whether she, with her all-round knowledge of him and the way his mind works, can see through his calm.

But Gemma just laughs in the same way, light, the wind blowing her fringe away from her face as she looks out at the freshly mowed lawn.

“I love that smell.”

“I know.” Harry says after a moment, following her gaze across the lawn. The very far end of their garden is lined with a row of tall trees, keeping them cosy in their own space. It’s through those trees that Harry goes to get to the lake. He might go later, actually.

“D’you remember playing with it? When we were younger?” Gemma giggles into her mug. “All that freshly cut grass, staining your shirts. And my favourite fleece jacket that one time, oh my god.”

Harry laughs too.

“Mum went murderous. I don’t think I’ve seen her so angry. At least, it’s the biggest memory of it in my mind.”

“Mm, same.” Gemma nods. “That and the time I went to that party after school without telling her. There wasn’t even alcohol or anything but she went berserk.”

“She worries.” Harry says, careful to emphasise the present tense. “About both of us, I think.”

“Mm.” Gemma nods.

“And so do I, by the way.” Harry looks at her profile, studies the places where he remembers baby fat to be, where her cheekbones are now sharper and more defined. How her lashes are longer and her jaw stronger. He can barely see the little girl he used to play with anymore. But the girl he looked up to is still there. She’s still there in Gemma’s eyes. “Are you happy? Not just with Chris, in general... But with Chris too.”

Gemma chuckles, sipping from her mug and placing it down again. It chinks against the glass top of the table.

“I am.” She nods, moving her head to meet his eyes now. “Very. He’s brilliant for me. Exactly who I need, you know? And sometimes it’s actually mad, how alike we can be. Sometimes we’re on the same wavelength so suddenly that all we can do is laugh.” She laughs then, at the memory. “Not to mention how much he cares. He’s a funny sort, because he doesn’t always like to show it. And what’s odd is that travelling the world with him – or the part that we’ve travelled together, anyway – he’s so _good_ with new people. Anyone. He’ll just chat to anyone, even if they can’t understand him.” She smiles at her hands. “But last night he asked me if Mum would mind us going to bed when we did, he asked if Robin would want him to help with the barbecuing on Sunday. He asked me if we were even allowed to be sharing the same room!” She laughs harder. “Isn’t that strange? He can talk to strangers from all over the world but put him in a house with our mother and he’s a shy as a baby.”

Harry chuckles. “You know it’s because he wants them to like him, don’t you?”

Gemma nods, humming.

“I just wish he wouldn’t worry so much. He’s fine. I mean, you saw Mum this morning. She must’ve come upstairs to get dressed, I think,” Harry nods, “and we came out of our room as she was rifling through the airing cupboard for something. She was still in her pyjamas, hair in a messy bun on top of her head and feet as bare as the day she was born. Chris honestly has nothing to worry about, Mum is so relaxed, and I’m sure if she’d gotten bad vibes from him she’d have spoken to me by now.” Gemma sighs. “I might talk with him, try and reassure him it’s okay here.”

Harry nods along, squinting a little in the sunlight that suddenly pushes from between the tops of the trees.

“I should probably make a start on the balloons, actually. Mum wants all the decorating done by the end of today.” Gemma drains her coffee mug and gets up from her chair. “I’ve missed you, by the way.”

“You too, Gem.” Harry smiles up at her, then laughs and stands up so he can give her a hug. It’s a tight one, his arms wrapped almost all the way around her middle. “And if it means anything at all, I like Chris. So far.”

Gemma laughs into his shoulder. “So do I.” She hums. “And I like Louis, by the way.”

“He’s not-”

“I know.” She stops him. “I’m just saying.”

Harry relaxes in her hold, unaware of why or when he even tensed up. She must notice, but says nothing. It’s not always good when Gemma does that.

They pull back from the hug and Gemma smiles at him, still holding her empty mug in one hand.

“I’ll call you if I run out of breath.” She winks, then steps back inside.

 

 

***

 

 

“Nice shower?”

“Jesus-!” Louis grabs for his towel instinctively. He tightens the knot at the front and huffs.

Harry laughs loudly as he lets the bedroom door shut behind him. He picks up the blankets from the floor and places them on the end of the bed.

“Don’t fucking laugh, s’not funny.”

“Maybe not from where you’re standing.” Harry counters, smirking.

“Shut up.” Louis mumbles, then returns to bending over his suitcase to retrieve clean clothes, mindful of keeping himself covered.

“Why did you have a shower anyway?” Harry asks, sitting down on the bed and playing with the rings on his right hand. He misses wearing them while he’s teaching. It’ll be nice to be able to wear them for a full week. “You were already dressed before.”

“I don’t know where you were-”

“-talking to Gem in the garden.”

“Right.” Louis nods, folding a pair of jeans over his arm. “But your mum had me and Chris making a bloody papier-mâché piñata.”

“Ooh! What shape?” Harry asks, excited.

Louis looks at him. 

“It was supposed to be a hedgehog. Apparently your Grandma likes them?”

Harry nods.

“Yeah, but we couldn’t get the spikes to stay sticking up. They sort of… kept flopping and flattening down again. So, basically it’s now a papier-mâché lump with three tubs of Celebrations inside it.”

Harry chuckles, watching Louis grab a jumper and kick the lid of his suitcase closed.

“I’m sure she’ll still love it. I mean, she’ll probably have a go with the bat but I doubt she’ll get very far. It’s more for the kids anyway, really.”

“Mm.” Louis nods, looking slightly lost as he stands there. “Um, so…”

“You alright?” Harry tilts his head slightly, studying Louis’ change. “Did Chris say something or-”

“No, no, it’s not- Err, I’ll just,” he nods to the ensuite, one hand holding his towel up at his front. “-get changed in there th-”

“Oh, shit! No. Sorry, I’ll- I’ll go, ‘cause I walked in so- I’ll leave you to it, sorry.” Harry nearly chokes with every pause, eager to fill it. “See you in a bit.”

“Wait, no- It’s alright, I’ll just-” Louis pauses. “I’ll go in there, it’s fine. You- you must’ve come in here for a reason, I don’t want to stop-”

“No, well…” Harry coughs, his hand paused on the door handle to leave. When did he get over here? “I came to get you, actually. Mum wants all hands on deck to decorate the living area and conservatory. S’where the main party will be so… You know, special and all that.” He nods to himself, wiping one hand on his jeans. “That’s all. I can come back later, once you’re- when you’re done.”

 

//

 

“-when you’re done.”

Louis blinks for a second, surveys the situation and how silly it actually is, then huffs out a heavy breath.

“Oh, fuck it.” And drops his towel.

Harry bangs his forehead on the door.

“Ow, _fuck_ -”

“ _Shit_ , are you alright?!”

Harry is squeezing his eyes shut, head still turned away from Louis.

“Yeah, yep just- Just get dressed.”

Louis bites his lip to stop himself laughing. The speed at which Harry averted his eyes was actually extremely ridiculous. He banged his head on the fucking door, Louis can’t hold it any longer.

His laughter bubbles out of him, colourful and high in his throat. He sees Harry’s shoulders tense though so makes quick work of pulling on his boxers and jeans, trying to stifle his noises.

“Um, you can-” He swallows another laugh. “I’m covered now.”

Harry finally relaxes, but Louis doesn’t miss the hitch in his breath when he realises Louis is still shirtless. Which is odd, because he’s been shirtless the whole time Harry’s been in here.

“So was it glue then? In your hair or something?” Harry asks suddenly, words coming out a little too fast.

“Uh, yeah. And all on my hands and arms. I just figured a shower would be best.” Louis answers, then pulls the jumper over his head.

“Cool.” Harry nods, swallows. After a beat or two, he adds, “So, we’re gonna be on table duty, is that alright? Mum wants those little sequin number 90’s strewn everywhere, and there’s balloons for each table too. Gem’s been blowing them up all morning.”

Louis smiles, kind of warmed by the fact that everyone it pitching in. He likes it.

“Yeah, that’s great.” He grabs his towel from the floor and gives his hair a quick rub through.

“Great.” Harry nods, watching Louis’ face disappear underneath the towel. “I’ll meet you downstairs then.”

And by the time Louis drops his towel from his head, Harry is gone.

 

 

***

 

 

“Well, ladies and gents. I must say, we’ve done a bloody good job.”

Everyone joins Robin in the large entryway to the living area, the conservatory sitting open beyond it. The whole place is dressed in the colours of sunny yellow and delicate white, flowers ready on Grandma Winnie’s table, all the others dressed with the balloons and sequins. The tables line the living area, with one long one stretched across the far wall of the conservatory, ready to be filled with food. The large floor space is clean and clear, ready for guests to mingle amongst each other with enough room to move easily. Banners reading ‘Happy 90th Birthday’ are taped to some of the conservatory windows and along the front of the buffet table. Spare balloons are attached to light fittings and Anne has even draped some white streamers over the back of Winnie’s chair.

“It looks amazing, Mum.” Gemma says, grinning. “I agree with Robin, a bloody good job guys.”

“Right. I’m so glad that’s done!” Anne claps her hands. “Harry, love, did you put the cake in the fridge for me?”

“Yeah, it just needs assembling now. I’ve brought the boards with me, they’re beside the toaster.”

“I can do that love.” She waves a hand at him. “Go and relax for a bit, I feel bad. Louis’ only been here a day and all we’ve made him do is work!”

“Really, Anne, I don’t mind.”

“Nonsense. It’s been extremely appreciated, but all four of you can go off and do your own thing now. I might phone Mum in a bit, see what time Uncle David’s bringing her here tomorrow.” She starts heading towards the kitchen. “Go, go on! Show Louis the lake, Harry!”

“Oh yeah! I forgot about the lake. You should show Louis, Haz. He’ll like it.” Gemma nudges Harry with her elbow and Harry frowns. _What are you up to?_ His eyes say, but she ignores them.

 

 

***

 

 

“So this is the lake.”

“This is the lake.” Harry says, once they’re through the trees and down the bank a bit. “We can get closer though, come on.”

Louis follows him down, padding through grass until it becomes fallen bark, soft and damp underfoot. It’s quieter now, muffled the closer they get, and the trees form a semi-circle around the far side of the lake, closing the area in. The breeze dances through their branches, but barely makes a sound. The water is dark, with it growing closer to dusk by the minute, and as it ripples, it looks like satin rather than silk, thicker and heavier with every movement of its surface.

“Jesus, have they filmed movies here?” Louis breathes, watching some birds flutter from the very top of the trees above them.

Harry chuckles, stopping by a cluster of rocks near the edge of the water. Louis comes up next to him, breathing slightly heavier from having followed him all the way down and not being as used to the journey.

“We wanted to get a little wooden pier built originally.” Harry says, voice gentle, feeling the rock for wetness and sitting down once deeming it dry enough.

“Oh?” Louis watches him and follows suits, their legs pushed close together as they sit. It’s some of the only warmth Louis can feel.

“Yeah, but we were told the lakebed wasn’t strong enough or something. I’m not sure, I was only young at the time.”

“Did you play down here a lot then? With Gemma?”

Harry hums, watching the water ripple gently.

“Sometimes. Mostly we just stuck to the garden. Mum didn’t like us being near the water without being able to keep an eye on us.”

Louis turns to look over his shoulder, back up in the direction they’d come from. Sure enough, the trees completely block the house from view.

“Wow, that could’ve been dangerous.” Louis frowns, imagining his sisters playing out here unsupervised. “No one can you see here.”

“Nope.” Harry pops the ‘p’, leaning down to pick up a smaller rock. He swings his arm back, between Louis and himself, and throws the stone as far as he can, hitting the water just halfway beyond the centre of the lake.

Louis huffs a small laugh, nodding to the lake. “You ever been able to completely clear it?”

Harry laughs too, smiling down as he picks up another rock.

“Nah. Always wanted to though. Don’t think my swing is strong enough.” He holds the small rock out to Louis.

“Or it’s just physically impossible to get it that far.” Louis suggests.

Harry smiles. “Go on, you have a go.”

“I’m never gonna-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry cuts him off, giving Louis a look that he usually only sees in Wednesday’s classes. “Just try.”

Without breaking eye contact, Louis takes the rock. Then he blinks, frowns at Harry’s mouth for a second, and turns to face the water.

“Can I stand up?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder. “Okay.”

Louis stands, feeling the weight of the rock in his palm. He adjusts his grip around it, shifting his weight on his feet a little. He knows he won’t clear the lake. Probably won’t even get the rock as far as Harry’s. But Harry told him to try, so he’s not about to give the man reason to belittle him. Not that he would, he’s sure. But then, he doesn’t know. It still niggles at him.

He sucks in a breath, squeezing the rock for luck, before swinging his arm back and throwing it forward, the rock flying from his fingers and soaring through the air above the lake.

It falls part way across, landing with a deep plop and small splash.

Louis turns to face Harry, finding him standing now too.

“See?” He smiles. “Told ya.”

Harry smiles, shaking his head. “Getting it across wasn’t the goal.”

Louis frowns, a bit confused. But Harry is talking again, stepping closer and stopping beside him, looking out to the lake.

“I want you to feel comfortable here, Louis.”

Louis’ frown deepens. “I-”

“Wait.” Harry interrupts. “Let me finish, it’s important.”

Louis nods.

“I want you to feel comfortable here. I know what we said in the car on the way- obviously there’s something about the situation that makes you want it to go well. Which is great, that’s really good. I’d much rather that than you not give a shit.” He pauses to let Louis chuckle. “But what I don’t want is for you to feel like you have to put on a front, impress anybody.”

Louis opens his mouth to speak but Harry lifts a hand to stop him again, turning to face him. His hair is blowing slightly into the side of his face, curls dancing against his neck and jawline. His eyes are dark, but kind, and Louis nods, showing that he understands not to speak again.

“I know that back in London I am your teacher, and it’s good that you want to respect that. But circumstances aside I have found that I can call you my friend too. And I’m confident you can call me the same?”

Louis nods.

“Good.” Harry smiles. “So here, in Scotland, please see me as your friend first. This is my home, it’s the place where I grew up. It’s the last place I want to have to put on all my teaching gear and be authoritative. I chose you to come as my guest, but not as my student. As my friend.”

Louis swallows. He nods again.

“I just want you to feel like you don’t have to _be_ anything. Relax. Have fun. I teach you in London, but I love you in Scotland. Does that make sense?”

Louis blinks, twice. He frowns, his mouth falls open and closed again. He might cough.

Harry laughs lightly. “Don’t worry, that wasn’t a declaration. I was just trying to show the contrast.” He grins. “Basically, I don’t want to have to worry about behaving like your teacher while we’re here. So equally, I don’t want you to have to worry about behaving like my student. Yes?”

Louis can only nod now, couldn’t speak even if he wanted to.

“I mean, we can definitely rehearse while we’re here, if you want to. We can make use of the space that we’ve got, seeing as the competition isn’t far away.” Harry suggests. “But just relax about it. I was talking to Gem earlier and she was telling me how Chris seems to have clammed up since he got here. He’s nervous around Robin, questions whether he’s behaving properly towards Mum-” Harry chuckles. “I don’t want you to be the same, that’s all. Just be you.”

Louis nods.

Harry frowns at his silence. “Are you alright?”

Louis clears his throat, nodding. “Uh, yeah. I’m great, I’m good.”

Harry’s frown lessens but something in his eyes stays. “Okay.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, almost agonisingly awkward, and then Louis’ phone chimes in his pocket.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, yeah. Phone signal around here dips in and out. Best places are outside and in the downstairs loo, I’ve found.” Harry explains as Louis fishes into his jeans for his phone. “Anyone special?”

Louis looks at him.

“Sorry.” Harry laughs. “Not sure why I asked that.”

“It’s just Niall.” Louis says, swiping to read the text.

“Oh?” Harry nods. “Sorry, remind me…?”

 

**_Yo, lover boy! How are the Scots treatin ya? Don’t get too loved up out there, will ya? Something to be said about losing ya head while you’re not at home! Anyways, hope you’re havin fun mate. Text me whenever. I’ll let ya know how the shops going. Don’t kiss your teacher. Byeee!_ **

 

“He’s a wanker.” Louis answers. “A guy I work with during the week. He thinks he’s funny.” He pockets the phone again. “Anyway, sorry, where were we?”

“Um, well… I think I was done, really. Just wanted to get all that out while we had the chance to be alone for it.” Harry explains, not meeting Louis’ eyes for very long at any one time.

“You forgot that we’re sharing a room and could be alone whenever we needed to be?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow and ignoring every ounce of subtext that came with what he just said.

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, and about that too. I’m sorry for earlier. You were put on the spot and I should’ve just left and- yeah. Sorry.”

Louis shakes his head, smiling warmly. “It’s fine. In the end I figured we were both big boys who could handle getting changed in front of each other. Otherwise it’s just making something out of nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s fine. How’s your head by the way?”

Harry reaches up to touch his forehead. “Bruised, I think. Gem asked what I’d done earlier. I said I’d banged it on a door, she didn’t need to know the context.”

Louis laughs. “Something tells me she’d read further into it than needed.”

“You know my sister so well and it’s only been one day.” Harry smiles, impressed. Then he laughs, dropping his hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Mainly damaged my dignity that’s all.”

“ _Your_ dignity?” Louis laughs. “I tried to console you with my cock out!”

Harry’s laughter comes out as a loud, violent bark. It echoes across the lake and more birds flee from a tree somewhere to their left.

“I like this.” He says after he’s calmed down.

Louis smiles, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“You.” He says, then adds, “Us. As friends. It’s good.”

“Not gonna lie, I sort of couldn’t stand you at first.” Louis admits, hoping Harry’ ll find the humour.

He does. “Ditto.”

Louis gasps and smacks his arm. “How _unprofessional_!”

“ _Excuse_ me? You just abused your teacher!”

“Wait a minute, I thought we were _friends_ in Scotland!? You can’t pull the teacher card just when it suits you!” Louis retorts, hitting him again for the hell of it and laughing when Harry does first. He’s not hitting him hard though, doesn’t think he ever could. And huh. Isn’t that a funny change in opinion. Odd.

“Stop! I bruise like a peach! My forehead is proof!” Harry wails comically.

Louis stops, dropping his arms and grinning at him. “You’re an idiot. Can we swim in the lake?”

“What, now?”

Louis nods.

“Maybe another day.” Harry says, looking up at the darkening clouds. “Let’s get the party out of the way first. Just in case the leeches decide to attack or something. Mum’ll kill us if we’re ill tomorrow.”

“ _Leeches_?” Louis blanches.

“Mhm. There aren’t many, but you’ll know about it if you get one.” Harry says. “Come on, let’s head back, I’m gonna help Mum with dinner.”

Harry starts back towards the direction of the house, leaving Louis to glance at the lake for a second, trying his best to rid leeches from his mind, before hopping to catch up with Harry so he can follow him back to the house. The last thing he needs is to get lost.

“I mean it, you know.” Harry says once Louis is beside him and they’re treading their way back through the trees. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here. But not just _here_.” He pauses, Louis lets him gather his thoughts. “But around me too. Earlier was mortifying, I hated myself for it. Please, if there’s anything that makes you feel-”

“Harry, it’s okay.” Louis stops him. “You don’t need to feel so bad about earlier, it’s alright.”

Harry pauses. “But you’ll tell me? Just promise you’ll tell me if anything like it happens again. Especially if I don’t notice at the time.”

Louis chuckles, trying to put Harry at ease.

“Oi. Stop it. We’re fine.” But Harry’s still looking at him with the same concern in his eyes. “ _Yes_ , I’ll tell you, fine. Okay?”

“Good, thank you.” Harry nods, then continues walking.

As they return to the house in silence, Louis wonders whether Harry realises that he’s comparing him to Gemma’s boyfriend; whether these comparisons are conscious decisions or not. And… he’s not entirely sure which version he’d prefer, actually.

 

 

 

 


	12. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party day. Louis is introduced to the majority of Harry's immediate and extended family. Oh, and they also have a bit of a dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this one. It's one of my favourites. ;) 
> 
> Also, if you want to actually play the track that's mentioned as you read that part of the chapter, feel free. I wrote that bit whilst listening to it on repeat so it should fit well, fingers crossed. :) 
> 
> All the love. x

If Louis was ever asked to describe the worst wake-up he’s ever had - up until approximately ten seconds ago - he’d have told you about the time a 4-year-old Daisy had woken up before her twin sister, and, due to the boredom of having no one to play with, had proceeded to empty the entirety of a bottle of talcum powder all over Louis’ bed – and subsequently all over Louis – leaving him a spluttering, chalky, half-asleep mess. Her excuse had been that she wanted to make him into a snowy mountain so she that could be The Snow Princess of said mountain. Johanna opted for making her Princess of the Naughty Step instead. As you can imagine, Daisy wasn’t all that impressed. And neither was Louis, who had to spend over two hours in the shower rinsing cloggy, water-clumped smearings of talcum powder from his hair and behind his ears.

It was without doubt the worst way to wake up.

Until about ten seconds ago.

“You _absolute_ -!”

“Morning, Sunshine. Sorry about that.”

“Harr’, fucks sake… I’m soaked.”

Harry cocks his dripping wet head to one side, “Hmm, not exactly. But if soaked is what you’d prefer…”

“Don’t even think about it!” Louis, at the speed of something that should not be moving horizontally quite that fast, shoots sideways across the bed to put as much distance between himself and the dripping human as possible.

Harry had, of course, emerged from the bathroom, _dripping_ wet, towel around his waist, and proceeded to stand right beside Louis’ bed – where Louis lay still asleep, no less – and shake himself like a dog. Twice.

Louis was _so_ far for impressed it was unreal.

“I can’t believe you…” Louis mumbles as he wipes at the cold droplets on the skin of his arms and chest. “This is not only rude, disrespectful and completely ridiculous. It’s also disgusting.”

Harry is already rolling his eyes. “Oh relax, it’s clean water. I’m clean. That’s what showers _do_.”

“Right, so should I just go and rub myself along the showers’ interior walls then? Make sure I don’t miss any? Probably wouldn’t need to shower myself after that.” Louis shakes his head. “Trust you to be into recycling water.”

“Hey.” Harry points a finger at him. Water drips from the ends of his long hair and lands on the mattress where Louis was once peacefully asleep. Louis watches it soak in with a sort of grieving sadness.

“Don’t be like that.” Harry continues, “There are worse ways I could’ve woken you up. And as for water recycling goes, I’m not _that_ anal about it, thank you. If I were that bad I’d have already convinced you to get in with me, or use my bathwater or something. Which I haven’t. So stop the sarcasm.” He raises both eyebrows far too high to be serious, meaning he’s at least a little bit joking. Which is good. Louis can’t be dealing with a stroppy Harry Styles this early in the day.

“Aw, you would’ve offered to share the shower? How _lustfully_ _romantic_.” Louis bats his eyelashes.

It’s apparently the wrong this to do though, because Harry just blinks a couple of times, then turns and leaves Louis’ bedside altogether, moving over to his suitcase instead.

“I’m gonna get dressed out here. You have precisely four seconds to get into that bathroom before I’m dropping my towel. Unlike _some_ people, I give _warning_. Four, three-”

“Jesus, okay.” Louis hops out of bed and adjusts his boxers on his hips. “No need to have a jab at me, Christ.”

“Three-” Harry says again, fingers finding the knot at the front of his towel, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Louis smirks.

“Hang on, let’s entertain an idea here. What if I _didn’t_ go into the bathroom? I bet you wouldn’t actually drop it.” He folds his arms and cocks his weight onto one hip.

Harry’s eyebrows lift higher, fingers moving to fiddle with the knot. “Two-” He counts, completely deadpan, soft dark hairs beginning to peek out from above the white cotton of the material at his waist.

Louis crumbles. “Shit, okay, fine.” And darts into the bathroom.

He doesn’t listen out for the towel hitting the carpet. He doesn’t listen out for the sound of bare feet padding about as Harry sorts through his case. He doesn’t listen out for the smooth slide of fresh underwear on clean skin or the heavy shake of legs stepping into jeans.

“I don’t hear any water running!” Harry calls.

Louis doesn’t reply, just lunges for the water controls- and slips, forgetting the controls are wet from Harry’s shower, his knee bashing against the glass door and his arm colliding with the wall.

“Ow, _fuck_.”

“You alright?” Harry calls.

“Uh, yeah- Yeah, I just… I’m fine!”

Louis rubs his sore knee and pretends he doesn’t hear Harry laughing.

 

 

***

 

 

“Gem just texted.”

Louis towels his hair. “Oh?”

Harry nods and drops the phone onto the bed.

“She wants to know what colour we’re wearing so Chris doesn’t wear the same.”

“Colours?” Louis chucks the towel on the rack in the bathroom and re-emerges with a confused frown. “As in ties?”

“Ties, shirts, suits in general.” Harry nods, seated on the edge of the bed and using the end of a tail-comb to neaten his cuticles. Louis watches him for a second. “Yours is black isn’t it?”

“Mm?” Louis looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. There’s amusement there.

“Want me to do yours too?” Harry lifts the tail-comb in gesture, smiling.

Louis ignores him. “My suit’s black, yeah. What colour’s yours?”

“Dark navy.” Harry hums, holding Louis’ eyes for a second before dropping his attention back to his nails. “Your fly is undone. What colour is your tie?”

Louis drops his head to realise Harry is right, and quickly sorts himself out as he answers. “Navy.”

“Aww, we match.” Harry coos, eyes sparkling. “I wish I was wearing a tie now. Could’ve had a black one.”

“Mm, yes, let’s.”

“Let’s what?”

“Carry on feeding _that_ rumour mill.”

There’s a silence after that. It’s a little bit heavy, but there’s something thrumming through it as Harry continues poking at his cuticles and Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, still shirtless. Birds crow outside and Louis realises Harry must’ve opened the window while he was in the shower.

“Mum says she wants us all ready for 1pm, no later. Most of the guests are arriving at half past. Grandma Winnie should be here between 2 and 3pm.” Harry informs him, tucking the tail-comb into the corner of his nail bed.

“Okay.” Louis nods, then moves to grab a clean t-shirt from his case. “What time is it now?”

“Time you got a watch.” Harry responds immediately, then laughs. “10:10am.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Right, so decs are done, food is near-enough sorted, cake done and set up, lawn mowed… Um…”

Anne Twist is stressing. And when Anne Twist stresses, Harry Styles soothes.

“Mum, _calm_ _down_. You’re doing it again. Everything’s ready apart from the guests actually being here on time. Which is out of your control, so breathe, calm down, I’ll get Chris to put some music on and maybe Robin could get you a drink?” Harry directs this last bit to the man himself, who nods and gives Harry a grateful smile.

“Harry, love, it’s only quarter to two in the afternoon, I-”

“Absolutely are _allowed_ a glass of wine.” Robin interjects, placing said glass in her hand and filling it up as he speaks.

Anne gives a smiling sort-of sigh and accepts the drink with a nod. “Thanks, loves.”

“Harry, Mick and Jane are here, I don’t want to leave Lou to great strangers on his lonesome but I need to help Robin put the last of the salad bits together for the barbecue. Could you-?”

“On it.” Harry nods, giving his Mum a final pat on the arm before disappearing towards the front hallway.

 

 

***

 

 

“Well, that was entirely as expected.”

“Can you blame them Louis? They’ve hardly seen me in the last decade, of course they’re going to assume you’re my partner.”

It’s weirder when Harry says it out loud so plainly.

“Yeah, well-”

“Everyone alright?” Anne suddenly appears at their sides. She doesn’t wait for an answer, her eyes excited and her cheeks rosy, wine-warmed. “Mum’ll be here in just under half an hour, Uncle David says. Have you had a chance to meet everyone, Louis? I know it must be a bit overwhelming, you’re doing _so_ well.” She gives him a warm smile and then she’s gone again, her son’s mouth still opened ready to reply.

Louis bursts out laughing. “Who’s idea was it to let her start drinking before the party even started?”

Harry sucks in a breath. “Regretfully, mine.”

Louis laughs harder. “Ah well, at least she’s relaxed.”

Harry nods, glancing down to the man beside him.

“And how are you doing? With everything?”

Louis knows what he’s referring to. It’s all the “oh, how lovely Harry, that’s wonderful”, “I’m so glad to meet you, you must tell us how it all began!”, “you look so good together, all matching suits and smiles, aww, I remember those days, Kevin.”

Louis won’t lie, he did sort of expect it. Human beings are only human beings, after all. They like to fall for the easiest option, believe the simplest thing and eat up the first assumption they form. Of course they’d have assumed he was something more to Harry than his stude- _friend_. It was inevitable, really. He probably should’ve even prepared himself for it slightly better. Talk with Harry yesterday, maybe. Discuss what would be best to do, how would be best to behave. But then, should any of that really be necessary? Can’t they just be normal and let people assume as they please? It’s not his or Harry’s fault that they’ve all got it wrong. Maybe Louis should just let them do as they please, take it in his stride. They’ll probably forget about him by next week. Memories of him won’t linger. They never do.

Harry clears his throat and Louis realises he hasn’t answered but- “I’m just going to check on the cake, do you want to come or-?”

“Or sit in a room full of complete strangers and be bombarded with questions about our non-existent love-life? Cake please.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t taking it in his stride _quite_ so well.

Harry chuckles, slinging an arm half around Louis’ waist, hand settling there gently, as if to remain casual.

“Ah, come on. I wouldn’t say it’s _non-existent_. Really?” He grins, winking down at the older man, before removing his arm and heading off towards the conservatory.

Louis swallows, brow flickering. Maybe he’s sincerely delusional then. Or something. Because, _yes_. He _would_ say non-existent. Why, wouldn’t Harry? What?

 

 

***

 

 

They’re over by the buffet table when one of the strangest thing to happen all day occurs.

Harry is picking at the cucumber on his plate, undecided as to whether he actually fancied any after all, when his mother shows up with two ladies in tow, her voice suddenly so loud that Louis beside him drops his cocktail sausage into the salsa dip. Harry has to swallow his bark of laughter, especially at the grief on Louis’ face as he watches his sausage start to sink.

“Harry! You remember Aunt Josephine and her neighbour Lorna, don’t you?” Anne shrills, so loud that Harry blinks a few times as it assaults his ears. He notices Louis has turned to politely greet them too, his reaction much the same as his own.

“I do.” Harry nods, smiling warmly and putting his paper plate down to greet them with gentle handshakes. Josephine must be bordering on 75 now, and Lorna isn’t very far behind. “You’re still neighbours?”

“Not anymore, love. Josephine is in a home now, but they let her out for today. I’m looking after her.” Lorna smiles sweetly. “D’you remember playing in our front gardens when you were a tot? We had that little fence between them, and you’d come running back and forth all the time.”

“I’d give you a biscuit, then you’d eat it up quickly and run over to Lorna’s so she’d give you one too. Cheeky little thing, you were. I remember the sandpit your mum bought over one summer, you’d sit in it and take all your clothes off! We’d have to run you a bath, finding sat in all sorts of places! Even between your-”

“I have vague memories, yeah.” Harry hastily interrupts, aware that his companion beside him is grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t look at him. “How are you both?”

“Oh, I didn’t bring them over for pleasantries like that, Harry.” Anne tuts. “They wanted to meet Louis, actually.”

“Oh, um… Yes.” Harry nods, extending an arm towards the man in question. “This is Louis. Louis, this is my Aunt Josie and her friend and neighbour Lorna Chambers.”

“Lovely to meet you, dear. Your eyes are extremely pretty, has anyone ever told you that?”

Louis works to hide his blush; Harry can see it.

“Um, uh, sometimes. Thank you.” He nods, smiling and encasing both her fragile hands in his. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Louis is Harry’s friend.” Anne explains, smiling at her son. “He’s travelled here from London to attend the party, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Oh, that’s lovely of you, Louis. Such a kind man.” Josephine beams. “How do you and Harry know each other? Were you schoolmates?”

Louis shoots Harry a confused look.

Harry just gives a small shake of his head, asking Louis not to address her mistake.

“Um, yeah, sort of. I know him through dancing, mainly.”

“Oh, you dance too! How marvellous! You’ll have to tell me all about it, dear.” Josephine nods, eyes crinkled. Lorna is smiling, an arm looped through the older lady’s.

“I’d better get her back to our table now, my lovelies.” She nods to both Harry and Louis, then turns to Anne. “I’ll see you later, Anne, love.”

Anne bids them farewell and turns back to her son and Louis with a smile.

“What was that?” Harry asks, brow creased deeply.

“Hmm?” Anne hums, seemingly oblivious.

“You. Just then. You normally leap at the chance to boast about my teaching, what’s gotten into you?” Harry lowers his voice, not wishing to draw any attention. He can feel Louis listening though.

“Nothing, love. It just… Didn’t seem important that they knew. Louis is your friend, so I introduced him as such.” She looks at him. “Would you have preferred me to-”

“No, no I- It just… It’s not like you, that’s all.” He frowns, picking up his discarded plate.

Anne plops some grilled chicken onto her own. “It doesn’t mean I’m not still proud of you, love.” She says, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. Then she drifts away, leaving Harry still very confused.

Louis appears where Anne was and matches Harry’s frown.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, she’s just…” Harry sighs. “She’s just a bit out of character, I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Louis pats him gently on the small of his back. “I’m sure it’s just the wine. Mum’s can get a bit funny sometimes as big family gatherings. Add wine and anything can happen.” Louis chuckles.

Harry chuckles too, but it’s weak.

 

 

***

 

 

“And here she is, the lady of the hour!” Harry swoops in to give his Great Grandma a massive kiss on the cheek that has her giggling and swatting at his arm non-committedly. “Or should I say lady of the _day_?”

“Stop it, you hooligan.” She laughs, her voice gentle and bleating like a lamb. “Where have you been all this time?”

“The hooligan’s been in Russia, Winnie, for his ballet.” Robin supplies, all too amused by Harry’s new nickname. “Shall I take your coat?”

Anne had greeted her Mum and left her in the capable hands of Robin, Harry, Louis and Gemma while she sees Uncle David and his wife through to the kitchen to get them both drinks.

Once the birthday girl is comfortably seated in the living area, Harry takes Louis over to introduce him properly, where his mum can’t interject and the noise levels aren’t too loud.

“Hi, Grandma.” Harry takes a seat beside her and leans in to greet her with a kiss to her cheek, less ridiculously this time. “I’ve brought Louis over to say hello. Thought I’d better introduce him properly.”

“Ah, hello Louis, dear. That’s a lovely name, is it French?” She asks, eyes glowing, her whole being screaming genuine interest in Harry’s new friend.

“Hello, Winnie, it’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for letting me attend your party, by the way.” He smiles, charming the socks off the woman. “And yes, it is. But I’m not French. I think my mum just liked it.”

Winnie nods, soft white curls shaking gently. She’s got small diamond earrings in and they dangle gently from her lobes, catching the light every so often.

“I’m so glad Harry’s happy, it’s wonderful. And isn’t he _lucky_! You’re certainly a looker, young man!” She giggles, her laugh is high and colourful and Louis _can’t_ find it in his heart to treat her like the others. He can’t look this gentle woman in the eye and squash the adoration she holds for her grandson, the happiness that’s blossoming at the thought of him finding love. It hurts his chest to even consider it, so-

“I’m glad too.” Louis nods, his voice not entirely sounding like his own. Harry notices, of course he does, his brow flickers, but Louis continues. “And thank you, that’s so sweet of you to say. Though I can’t say he got the best side of the deal. Have you _seen_ your grandson? I’m the lucky one here.”

And it all sounds so fake, so scripted and wooden. It tastes bitter in Louis’ mouth, to spin such nonsense and only partly mean it. Harry’s looking at him, he can feel it, but he can’t meet his eyes. Not right now.

Winnie chuckles, reaching across the table to pat Louis’ hands in that way grandmothers like to do. The breath Louis lets out is shuddery, and he prays Winnie doesn’t notice it.

 

 

***

 

 

“I’ve got a question for you.”

“Ah, what a coincidence. I have _several_ questions for you.” Harry smirks, crossing one leg over the other and sipping at some sort of mixed drink.

Louis closes his eyes. “Don’t. I know what they are, but can we just address that later?” He asks, meeting Harry’s green eyes. “Please.”

Harry sucks on his straw, then lets it drop into his glass and nods, leaning to place it down on the table in front of him.

They’re seated at an empty table, nearer to the buffet table, and Louis has a pressing question on his mind.

“It’s a bit nosey…” He precedes, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“That’s okay.” Harry says.

“Um, so how come your mum calls Winnie ‘Mum’, isn’t she, like, way too old to be her mother?”

Harry smiles gently and nods, seeming somewhat relieved though Louis ignores that for now.

“Yeah, she’s not my Grandmother, she’s my Great Grandmother. But, um… Let’s just say she did a lot more in the raising of my mum and her siblings than their actual mother did.” Harry says, wiping at the condensation on the edge of his glass with a long finger. “She’s more of a mother than their real mother.”

“Oh.” Louis nods, getting it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s fine, don’t be silly. You did say it was a nosey question, and I did say that was okay.” Harry smiles. “You’re fine. No worries.” He shrugs.

Louis just nods.

Silence falls between them again and Louis isn’t sure what to do. Until the music fades out of one song and into another and it has Harry on his feet like lightning, eyes snapping over to where a sizeable amount of people are dancing in the large space inside the conservatory extension.

“Harry, what-”

“Oh my god.” Harry laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. “You have to come and dance with me, it’s mandatory.”

Louis frowns, eyeing the drink Harry’s left on the table.

“What’s in that?”

“Shut up. Come on.” Harry grabs Louis’ hand and hauls him to his feet.

“Harry, really-”

“Stop moaning, come on.” He tugs him in the direction of the dancefloor.

“Harry, are you expecting me to do ballet because this song really isn’t-”

“Nope.” Harry pulls him harder, making his way through groups of people mingling until he finds a space for them both in the middle. Great. He turns Louis to face him, already grinning and starting to dance along to the beat of Prince’s ‘ _Kiss’_.

“Forget ballet. You must’ve had ballroom lessons as a kid, right? Back at your dance school before London?”

Louis nods, thinking back to the Waltz and the Quick Step in an old school hall in Doncaster.

“Good.” Harry says, then takes Louis in his arms with no hesitation whatsoever. “Then you’ll remember the Salsa.”

Louis internally groans, not getting it. It’s not that being held like this by Harry is weird, far from it, they’ve danced together so many times now. But it’s in front of his entire extended family, who already have certain assumptions. But. Taking it in his stride. Okay. Okay. How is he even supposed to Salsa dance to this?

Somehow, Harry is doing it though, a hand holding Louis’ up and the other low on Louis’ hip. He’s guiding Louis’ movements for him, unaware – or unbothered – by the amount of eyes on them both. Mostly everyone else has stopped dancing and has formed a sort-of circle around them, bopping and clapping along. Oh god.

He meets Harry’s eyes, silently conveying how embarrassing this is. But Harry just smiles, staring right back at him and silently telling him to just relax into it. Go with the flow. Recycle bathwater, be nice to trees. Alright, fine. Fine. Okay.

“ _You don’t have to be cool, to rule my world…_ ”

Louis winces. They’re fashioning some sort of nod towards a _vague_ take on the Salsa, and Harry is grinning like he might laugh. Louis bites his lip, trying not to give in and laugh too. Or maybe it’s okay if he does, maybe- Wait. What-

Harry is letting go of him, pushing himself away and creating space between them. Then he’s undoing his suit jacket and flicking it back behind his hips, the top button of his shirt undone, and he’s dancing _at_ Louis. He’s pointing and miming the words like an idiot. Anne is laughing somewhere behind him and he can hear Gemma whooping.

Louis is going to die.

“ _I just want your extra time and your…_ ” Harry blows way too many kisses into the air around himself. Then sets Louis a look and a wink in time for, “ _…kiss_.”

Laughter immediately dissolves around them, including Louis’ own, and okay. It’s just a bit of fun. It’s a laugh. He can do this. It’s just for a laugh.

The next verse starts up and Louis starts stalking towards Harry in time with the beat, loosening his tie and leaving it undone around his neck. “ _If you wanna impress me… You can’t be too flirty…_ ”

He pops his collar as he mouths the lyrics, watching at Harry grins, then takes his tie off completely and drapes it over Harry’s head and around his neck, leaving it there. It matches his suit something awful. “ _I know how to undress me…_ ”

Then he circles him, strutting way too extravagantly to be serious, throwing a grin over at Gemma who’s laughing so hard she’s crying.

Once Louis is directly in front of Harry again, he loops his arms around his neck and picks up the steps of the Salsa again, still miming. “ _I want to be your fantasy, maybe you can be mine…_ ”

Harry joins in, still grinning with his hands finding Louis’ hips easily. “ _We could have a good time…_ ” Louis wiggles his eyebrows suggestively which sets Harry off laughing. Then the chorus starts again and Harry is stepping back and taking one of Louis’ arms to twirl him. It becomes a Salsa-y sort of twirling thing, travelling across the floor a bit like a Tango ought to. Technically, it’s a mess. But it’s fun and funny and Louis likes it.

“ _Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with, I just want your extra time and your…_ ” This time the kiss noises come while Louis is turning, and Harry grabs him as he finishes the spin, pulling him flush into his chest just in time for, “… _kiss_.”

They’re frozen for a moment after that, Gemma’s whooping gets louder, then Louis is grinning, beaming, and pushing off of Harry’s chest to strut away from him, moving in a big circle around the space and collecting high-fives off of family members watching. It’s a pantomime, it’s ridiculous. But it’s spontaneous and that makes it okay.

It’s the instrumental break then, and it consists of Louis beckoning Harry over and then walking away from him again. Harry, at one point, chases him and grabs him to start the Salsa again and Louis goes with it for a bit, until Harry pulls a fast one and _he_ walks away from _Louis_ , copying him and strutting around to receive high-fives himself. Louis narrows his eyes across the floor at him, shaking his head and failing at hiding his smile. He’s gonna play dirty? Fine. That’ll just make it more fun.

He stalks over to Harry and ticks a scolding finger, the other hand perched on his hip as he struts. “ _Act your age, not your shoe size, maybe we could do the twirl…_ ” At this, Louis circles his finger as if to tell Harry to turn around. Harry raises a single eyebrow, but obeys, catching Gemma’s eye and laughing with her. She’s got a certain glint there.

Louis grins as Harry does as he’s told, then runs his hands past Harry’s sides and across his stomach, keeping it all PG due to the elderlies in the room, of course, but it’s enough to convey the message, his fingers tracing the lines of Harry’s abs as the lyrics croon, “ _just leave it all up to me, my love will be your food_ ”. Then he moves his arm and grabs one end of his discarded tie where it hangs loose around Harry’s neck and uses it to turn him back around to face him again, winking as he meets Harry’s eyes and pulls the tie completely off of him, turning his back and strutting away, the tie draping along the floor after him.

He lets Harry follow, throwing the tie to one side out of the way, then turns around and grabs the edges of Harry’s suit jacket, resuming their earlier Salsa routine.

“ _Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with, I just want your extra time and your…_ ” On the kisses this time, Louis quickly does up Harry’s jacket buttons, then kisses two of his fingers and pushes them against Harry’s lips as the song ends with the final, “… _kiss_.”

After that it’s just the song trailing off and fading into the next one, Whitney Houston – which leads all the crowd back onto the dance floor within the space of about three seconds, Harry and Louis still looking at each other with smirky grins, jostled by the bodies around them dancing away. Harry just winks, his smirk growing and Louis reaches up to flatten his popped collar.

 

 

***

 

 

They’re outside, it’s slowly getting dark and Robin is off to the side cleaning up the barbecue and sorting out leftovers on a metal tray.

Harry and Louis are just outside the open doors of the conservatory extension, leaning against the railing of the decking.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Louis says, watching the sun slowly sink.

“What is?” Harry asks, his eyes in the same direction.

“Earlier. Our dance.” Louis says. “We danced to a song called _Kiss_.”

Harry’s brow flickers, Louis knows without even looking. “Why… Is that ironic?”

“Mhm. Think back to that Wednesday.” Louis nods.

“What Wednesday? The one just gone?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious.

Louis turns to face him. “Harry. Don’t play Dumb-Shit with me. Wednesday a few weeks ago, you know the one.”

Harry pulls a face, licks his finger and sticks it in the air. “Hang on, let me just consult my mental calendar… Nope. I’ve no idea.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Yes. You have. Even if you can’t think back that far you must be able to at least _guess_ at what I’m talking about because believe me, all Wednesdays since have paled in comparison.”

Harry blinks. “… Why?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You nearly kissed me.” Louis gives in. “There.”

“Oh. That Wednesday.”

“Bingo.” Louis sighs, turning to face the sinking sun again. “Fucking finally.”

But apparently Harry still doesn’t get it. “Why… What-”

Louis sighs again.

“I just think it’s ironic, that’s all.” He gives Harry a look. “Were you actually never gonna bring that up again?”

Harry falters.

“I- Um… I thought we were making… uh, good progress without having to drag that out of the gutter.”

“Gutter, wow. That’s flattering.”

“Louis, no. I mean- You know what I mean. I thought we’d both put it behind us with no further need to comment on it.” Harry explains, facing Louis’ profile. Louis says nothing. “Apparently not.”

Louis is still silent.

“Do you _want_ to talk about it?” Harry offers.

Louis nods. “A lot.” His voice is quieter than before.

“Okay.” Harry nods. “What, specifically, do you want to-”

“Why?” Louis interjects.

“Mm?” Harry frowns.

“I want to specifically focus on _why_. Why did you almost do it? Why did you drop me afterwards? Why did you leg it straight away? Or maybe,” Louis shifts, facing him now. “Why _didn’t_ you do it? What stopped you? That’s an interesting one, actually.”

Harry swallows. “You wanted me to do it?”

“That’s putting words in my mouth and I’m pretty sure you’re fairly familiar with my reaction to you doing that.”

Harry is silent.

“Basically, I just want to…” Louis sighs, snaking his tongue out to wet his lips. “Sort it out. It’s a jumbled sort of blip in my memory and, despite what you seem to feel, I don’t actually think we can move forward with- anything, until we’ve at least ventured back to talk it out. Figure it out. Even just a little bit. So shoot.”

“…Shoot?”

Louis sighs again.

“Yeah. What happened that day? What caused it?”

Harry frowns, even steps back a little.

“That’s a bit personal, Louis-”

“Do you ever want to actually kiss me?” Louis interrupts, stunning Harry into a silence that then becomes heavy between them.

“What?” Is all Harry can seem to manage.

“You heard.” Louis says. “I’m not saying it’s definite endgame here but I’m just asking for a second, do you actually ever want to? For real?”

“Um… Can we- Now’s not-”

“I know I’ve put you on the spot a bit here, but- I just feel maybe that’s _better_. So… hit me with it. Go for it.”

Harry is quiet for a long while then, searching between the two of Louis’ eyes for something, Louis doesn’t know what. He just smiles and stays silent too, waiting.

“Yes, I do.”

And Louis swallows the lump that forms in his throat and nods, getting back to the point at hand.

“Good, uh- and that Wednesday was…?”

Harry takes a moment to find the words.

“A false start…. A… A mistake because nothing about it was right.”

Louis frowns, just a little. “Could you maybe expand-?”

“We weren’t right yet.” Harry blurts. He clears his throat. “As a connection. As people. I don’t- Kissing to me is…” He trails off.

“Well, it’s usually impulse.” Louis supplies, voice gentle.

“Yeah, exactly. But it’s also something important. I feel.” Harry pauses, Louis’ notices he hasn’t looked directly at him in a while. “The… impulse,” he looks up on that word and Louis must _visibly_ falter, he _must_ , “the impulse was there, but the capability for the importance wasn’t, I suppose is what I’m trying to say.” Harry winces. “Does that make sense?”

Louis nods. “And… now?”

Harry tilts his head a little. “What do you mean?”

They’re lucky no one’s disturbed them yet. Louis’ eyes flick over to where Robin is still busy with the barbecue, too far away to hear them. The sun has gone down completely now.

“You said you feel like we’ve made progress. Does that mean the… capability… is there now?” Louis tries, careful of his wording.

Harry blinks a moment, searching Louis’ eyes again. “… Yeah, I- Yeah.” He slowly nods. “Yeah.”

Louis is quiet then. The air between them feels so fragile, a delicate silence that could snap for the wrong reason at any minute. He’s glad it’s almost completely dark out here. Harry is only lit by the lights from indoors and it helps, Louis finds, to not be able to see every line of his face.

“And…” Louis murmurs, noticing how much closer he is to Harry than a few moments ago. “And the impulse?”

“Harry, love! We’re about to do Winnie’s cake!”

Anne’s call shatters the delicacy in under a second; squashed like a tiny bug under a boot. Air whooshes out of Harry’s lungs and Louis feels a weight sink deeply into his chest.

“Cake.” Harry says, moving a little awkwardly on the spot. “I should-”

“Yeah, we should…” Louis points to the open doors. “-go inside.”

“Yeah.”

Louis isn’t watching Winnie as she blows out her candles. He’s not watching her as she cuts her cake either, or when she starts giving slices to Anne to hand out. He’s not paying attention when he gets handed his slice by a confused Gemma. Doesn’t even taste it as he puts crumb after crumb in his mouth. His mind is a bit all over the place, his thoughts are everywhere, but his eyes are only ever in one place.

And green ones are always staring right back.


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes occur. Steps are taken. Progress is made. 
> 
> Things taste better outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes another apology... I am so sorry. For some reason, I really struggled to be happy with this chapter. I am honestly my own worst critic and sometimes it legitimately gives me writer's block. I give myself writer's block. How ironic is that. It was just one of those frustrating situations where I knew what I wanted to write, just not how to word it. So this could probably still do with a lot of improvements. But I sincerely hope it's enough for you guys to enjoy it all the same. I couldn't make you wait any longer. 
> 
> All the love. x
> 
> P.S. As always, just a little reminder. Asterisks (***) mean a change of time/scene. Forward slashes (//) mean an alteration of POV within the same scene. 
> 
> P.P.S I have started writing the fic I shall be posting once I've finished this one. It's verrrry different to this. And I'm planning on finishing it completely before I upload it. (It's probably clear why that is.) ((I'm laughing.)) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry can't figure Louis out.

 

Louis is tiny cardboard pieces painted in bright colours and cut into mismatching shapes. Louis is sunlight blinking through gaps in the trees, hard to pinpoint; beautiful, but difficult to look at for too long. He is expanding galaxies, taking up way too much of Harry’s headspace and dazzling his subconscious with energy and warmth and colour. Louis can be sharp-edged, stinging and cold. He can also be the sun. Louis is the biggest enigma Harry has ever known; and as he lay on the floor of the guest bedroom in the house he spent the ages of 13 to 17 growing up in, slowly dipping in and out of the pool that is the softest and most-welcome of slumbers, Harry thinks that maybe trying to figure Louis out is only slowing him down in _knowing_ him. Knowing _Louis_ , not what or who Louis is. Louis as Louis. Louis the puzzle, the ethereal sunlight, the ever-moving universe, the knife, the sun. The man.

 

Harry slips into slumber after that.

 

//

 

Louis can’t figure Harry out.

 

Harry is curled in on himself, the tiniest of human balls made out of near-six-foot of bone and muscle and strength and kindness. Louis peeks over the end of the bed to watch him breathe, watch him fall asleep; so he can allow himself to think without limits.

Harry is a mystery. Harry is superiority crammed into the spaces between his own eyelashes. Harry is worth waxing poetic about, Louis decides. He’s like splintered moonlight through venetian blinds; painting everything he touches and turning it beautiful. He happens. He arrives and he happens, and Louis is helpless. Harry is a match, lit by a single strike across Louis’ chest. He is fire and moonlight and kindness and soft things.

 

Louis nestles further into his pillow and sucks in a deep breath.

 

Harry is his friend. Harry is his ballet teacher.

 

Louis didn’t notice exactly when he’d begun to switch those two around; when the first had stopped being the second and started putting itself before the other. He frowns, moving his tongue around inside his mouth. He’s confused himself now.

 

But Harry _is_ a friend. A friend whom Louis would very much like to kiss. Which. He’d never have believed a few months ago. Even less than how much he'd have believed the evident fact that Harry seems to want to kiss him _too_.

 

Ugh… Since when did this become the thing of playgrounds?

 

Louis rolls onto his back, eyes staring uselessly into the inky darkness. He used to do this when he was younger; open his eyes in the dark to see what it would like to be blind. That was back when being blind had only the literal meaning; the absence of physical sight, that is. There's so much more to it now, he thinks, as an adult.

 

Harry stirs on the floor.

 

One glance to the bedside clock tells Louis they’ve been in bed for nearly four and a half hours. He should probably get some sleep now.

 

But Harry stands up then. Louis can tell because the tiny, tiny slither of light underneath the bathroom door becomes partially blocked by something. Harry’s ankles and feet.

 

Harry moves, softly padding on the carpet, and then the bathroom door is being opened, bathing the room dimly. Louis hears Harry curse at the sudden onslaught to his sleepy eyes.

 

The door closes again, and Louis releases the breath he didn’t realise he’d begun holding.

 

For some reason, he finds himself making his breathing quiet, straining to listen over it. He’s not trying to listen to Harry pee. That’s. Ew. He doesn’t quite know what it is he’s doing, but he doesn’t have long to wonder over it anyway, because the loo is flushing, the sink is running and the bathroom door is opening again.

 

Louis is okay, he’s tired and _tired_ and a bit achey, but he’s okay.

 

Until Harry gets in bed beside him, that is.

 

He can’t make his voice work as he watches Harry slide in and pull the duvet around himself. He can’t speak when Harry lets out a small hum of contentment and buries his curly head into the pillow right beside Louis’ right arm.

 

He stays where he is for a second, blinking in the semi-dark, then, as slowly as humanly possible, he inches himself to the left to create some space between their bodies. Harry is radiating stupid amounts of body heat and Louis can’t take it.

 

He swallows, definitely not up for the awkwardness that will ensue should he wake Harry up and kick him out. So he turns to face away from the younger man, pulls the duvet right up under his chin, and closes his eyes.

 

Harry is the moment when the waves turn white as they approach the shore; anticipation, excitement and gentle caresses; shushing and crushing and rolling. Harry is something Louis’ can't even name. Something else. Something cosmic.

 

Louis is asleep within seconds.

 

 

***

 

 

Morning comes with that sudden sense that the night had been far too short.

 

Louis rolls over to find himself literally face to face with a softly sleeping Harry, their noses just a hair’s width apart. Harry’s curls are a mess above his head, sprawled out across the pillow like someone painted him there with delicate brush-strokes, in-between the sheets just inches from Louis’ own body. His lips are slightly pushed out, obviously relaxed from lack of use, and his skin holds that gentle softness that only appears in those tiny few seconds as someone wakes. His eyelids begin to flicker, nose drawing in a large breath, and suddenly Louis doesn’t fancy being this close to Harry’s face when he opens his eyes and realises where he is.

 

He’s out of the bed before he even realises he’d fired that thought to his brain.

 

Toilet. He can pretend to go- oh. Nope. Okay, toilet for real. Cool.

 

Louis takes his sweet time in the loo, giving Harry as long as possible to come up with an excuse that might not embarrass him too much. For the sake of them both.

 

He washes his hands, dries them to within an inch of their life on the hand towel beside the sink, rearranges all the shampoos and shower gels sitting inside the shower, brushes his teeth and checks his reflection, then finally sucks it up and heads back into the bedroom.

 

Harry is still in the bed. But he’s sitting up, no longer asleep, and is looking, albeit bleary-eyed, at Louis.

 

“Um…” Louis starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So-”

 

“So, I was… going to try and come up with some sort of elaborate excuse… about sleep-walking or carpet mites… or something.” Harry scratches the back of his neck with one arm, the muscles in his bicep bunching and causing Louis to almost bite through his entire cheek pocket. “But I figured the truth is just as stupid anyway, so…”

 

His voice is deeper than usual, rough around the edges and reverberating from down in his chest rather than his throat. It's a healthy voice, Louis muses.

 

He swallows and feigns casual interest, moving over to the window to brush the curtains open.

 

“Uh, so I basically got up for a wee, and then must’ve just gone onto autopilot and headed for the bed when I was done. I… forgot you were here, I’m sorry.”

 

Louis’ looking out the window, eyes watching a crow on the fence in the Styles’ front garden. It's preening the feathers on the inside of its wing, and an idea hits Louis as the crow soon flies off, and he smiles.

 

“Well,” he turns and perches back against the deep windowsill, crossing his ankles and shrugging, “I don’t know what offends me more. The fact that you forgot I was here, or the fact that I wasn’t the reason you got into the bed.”

 

Harry blanches, his sleep-softened features and pale green eyes bathed in bright morning sunlight. Louis realises Harry probably can’t see his facial features due to this - over-exposure or something - and he rethinks his plan quickly.

 

“Look, it’s no biggie. So we shared a bed, big deal.” He shrugs again and moves over to sit on the edge of the bed and face Harry, enjoying the way the sun skims across his bare chest like this. “I told you I’ve shared rooms with boys before, Harry. And you _didn’t_ hump me in your sleep, so we’re all good.” He chuckles.

 

Harry’s face falls into a deep frown. “You’ve had boys hump you in their sleep?”

 

Louis gasps over-dramatically. “Don’t act so surprised! I am quite irresistible you know.” He grins and gets up from the bed.

 

“I wasn’t saying you weren’t.” Harry is quick to counter, making Louis catch his foot on the discarded blanket pile and nearly go flying. Harry just smirks.

 

“Oi.” Louis turns on him with a pointed finger once he’s properly upright. “Don’t start getting all cheeky, _you_ snuck into bed with _me_ and are blaming it on your autopilot. Behave.”

 

“I thought you were fine with it!” Harry laughs, slapping his hands down against the duvet either side of him.

 

“Mm.” Louis just pulls an unimpressed face. “We’ll see.”

 

“That sounds like a threat.” Harry says, shoving the duvet off of himself and standing up. His boxers fall low on his hips, loose from having been slept in, and Louis watches Harry scratch idly at his laurel tattoo as he moves across the room to start tidying the blankets up.

 

It’s then that Louis realises they’re both in their underwear and are both sporting less-than-ignorable morning wood. He grits his teeth.

 

“So, I need a shower.” Harry announces, chucking the folded blankets onto the low windowsill.

 

Louis nods, pleased to have his back to him.

 

“Joining me?” Harry then adds, the quirk of his eyebrow evident in his tone.

 

“I’m- what?” Louis’ eyes must give away his confusion too, looking over his shoulder at the other man. “What?”

 

Harry chuckles. “S’only fair. I got into bed with you, you are welcome to get in the shower with me.” He grins, and that’s when Louis’ realises he’s joking. The bastard.

 

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes and returns to sorting through his suitcase for jeans.

 

“I mean it.” Harry sing-songs, heading for the ensuite door and turning back to poke his head around the doorframe. His hair tumbles down sideways from his head, curls messy. “I’ll even let you blame it on your autopilot.”

 

Louis laughs. “Shut up, that doesn’t even make any sense.” He throws a balled-up pair of socks at him. “Go and get in already. My duties right now are more suited for fetching tea from downstairs. Don’t make me spit in yours.”

 

Harry just grins and disappears, shutting the door behind him then.

 

Louis never hears it lock.

 

 

***

 

 

“Food tastes better outside, don't you think?”

 

It’s that time of morning where everything actually feels like it has _properly_ woken up. No silky grey remnants of fog hang in the air, no dew on the tips of leaves. There’s no misty cloud or sharpness to the breeze. It’s properly morning. Complete with birdsong, yellow sunshine and lungfuls of crisp, night-cleansed air.

 

“Does it?” Louis says through a mouthful of pastry. Anne had bought buttered croissants and Harry had insisted he and Louis eat them outside. Louis watches the steam climb out of their hot chocolate mugs as he chews.

 

Harry is nodding as he swallows his mouthful to reply.

 

“Mhm. I think so.” He brushes the crumbs from his hands onto the damp bark beneath his feet. “It must be the reaction with the oxygen or something.”

 

“There’s oxygen inside.” Louis counters.

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Clean oxygen, then.”

 

“Clean oxygen.” Louis mutters, stifling his smile. “So is that why you made me eat breakfast out here then?”

 

“That and we can properly have a chat without my family breathing down our necks. I feel like we’ve barely had a breather since we arrived.”

 

“Not true,” Louis shakes his head and brushes off his own crumbs. On his jeans. “We’ve had plenty of opportunities for chats before bed.”

 

“Well, we’ve both been tired.” Harry reasons. “This is more picturesque anyway.”

 

“Are you saying I _don’t_ look beautiful before bed?”

 

“Do you _want_ me to lie to you?”

 

Louis’ resulting gaspy shriek of offence is dwarfed by Harry’s hooting laughter.

“I’m messing- Don’t pull that face.” Harry manages once he catches his breath. “Really though, I love this view.”

 

Louis holds his eyes for a moment, then decides Harry is probably talking about the lake, and turns to look at that instead.

 

“Yeah, I’ll give you that.” He nods. “Nothing like this in London, that’s for sure.”

 

Harry hums, and for a while, it’s just the sound of the mid-morning breeze through the trees surrounding the lake, the harmonious blend of various birdsongs, and the steam rising between them from their cooling drinks.

 

Louis reaches for his when Harry speaks again.

 

“The lake’ll be warm enough to swim in just after lunch, I should imagine.”

 

Louis tucks his feet up onto his camping chair – “I’m not sitting on damp rocks this early in the morning, Harold” – and cradles his drink with a frown.

 

“Will it?”

 

“Mhm.” Harry nods and picks up his own mug, blowing across the top gently. “Mum was saying they’ve been having some funny weather here recently. It’s nearing the end of Autumn yet they’ve had some fairly warm days.” He sips his hot chocolate. “Probably means a storm’s coming.”

 

Louis watches a bird swoop low across the lake, its wings quickly disturbing the surface as it flitters low then flutters off.

 

“But for now, we might as well take advantage of it.” Harry continues. “A swimmable lake means we can practice lifts without worrying too much about falling.”

 

“Are you planning to drop me then?” Louis quips, barely managing to keep the “again” inside.

 

“Zayn, you mean.” Harry corrects.

 

Louis frowns but covers it quickly.

 

“I wasn’t actually referring to the show but- I meant- Yeah.”

 

“ _But_ ,” Harry says after a beat. “As his understudy, no, I promise you I am not _planning_ on dropping you.” He informs him. “Whether I do on the other hand, is entirely its own conundrum. Is your drink sweet enough?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Is your drink sweet enough?” Harry repeats, nodding to the mug in Louis’ hands.

 

“Oh, uh- Yeah. It’s fine, thanks.”

 

Harry nods and returns his gaze to the water. The breeze is playing with the ripples and every now and then another bird appears to swoop down and disturb their patterns. Louis identifies a particular melody of birdsong that he decides is his favourite, and strains to listen to only that one, waiting for it in-between all the others.

 

“You enjoy yourself yesterday?”

 

It disturbs Louis’ concentration, and for a moment he doesn’t even register what Harry has said. He sucks in a breath, returning himself to the present.

 

“That’s a stupid question.” Louis adjusts himself in his chair.

 

Harry frowns. “Why is it?”

 

“Because I can only answer with yes, whether or not I did enjoy myself yesterday.” Louis explains. His favourite bird pipes up again. “If I answer with no, you go off on one and start asking why and what was wrong, blah blah blah, which I’d really rather avoid. Not to mention the fact that it was a party held for your very lovely, very old Great Grandmother, whom I’d never wish to offend if I could at all help it. Mostly just out of fear of what your mother might do to me if I did.” Louis pauses. “If I answer with yes, however, all of that is avoided, but it likely means I’m answering out of _politeness_ , not truth, so if _that’s_ the case, and I feel the need to be as polite and well-mannered as possible, did I _really_ enjoy myself yesterday? Or was all of _that_ a front too?” He raises both eyebrows. “And _that_ will lead _you_ to questioning _me_ and asking what was wrong, blah blah blah. So. Either answer is a loss for me and a win for you.” Louis sips his drink. “Which is probably why you asked, to be honest.”

 

Harry doesn’t blink for a long few seconds. His mouth is slightly agape and his fingers twitch absently where they hold his mug. Louis waits, watching his throat move every time he tries to push his voice to speak. Eventually a sentence actually does come out.

 

“Jesus, someone swallowed the entire authography of Jane Austen.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes but it doesn’t hide his grin. “You know what I’m getting at.”

 

“Well, yeah.” Harry’s still frowning. “I _would_. If I was a rich bureaucrat from the eighteen-hundreds and you were my arranged marital intentions.”

 

Louis nearly spits out his entire mouthful of hot chocolate all over his lap. His eyes screw shut completely and he nearly folds double, laughter bubbling out of him without his control. His bird sings again.

 

“Oh god- Shit. That’s- Okay… okay.” He calms himself down and puts his mug on the ground beside the leg of his chair. “Fine. Then, yes. Of course I enjoyed myself yesterday.”

 

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “And that’s the truth-truth.”

 

“That’s the truth-truth.” Louis crosses his heart with a finger, meeting Harry’s eyes.

 

Harry goes to sip his drink again but stops, eyes on Louis’, and shakes his head with another laugh.

 

“You are something else, Louis Tomlinson.”

 

“I’ll take that in a good way.” Louis grins.

 

“Feel free.” Harry finally takes a mouthful and then he too sets his mug on the ground.

 

“Shall we do a bit of rehearsing then?” He jerks his head in the direction of the lake. “Just on the bank at first, while the sun still does its thing.”

 

Louis chuckles and nods, standing up when Harry does.

 

“I could sense you were missing it.” Harry’s eyes gleam when Louis steps up to him.

 

“Shut up, it’s only been three days.”

 

“Am I wrong then?” Harry cocks his head to one side.

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

 

 

***

 

 

“I was right, you _have_ missed this.”

 

Louis finishes his ninth run of his competition routine, breathless and sweating a bit, but glowing otherwise. He can’t lie, Harry _was_ right.

 

“You ready to get in to practice some lifts?” Harry asks, already unbuttoning what was left of the buttons on his shirt. Louis keeps his eyes up.

 

“Will it be warm enough? We haven’t had lunch.”

 

Harry shrugs. “We’ll find out, I guess.”

 

“Wait, didn’t you say there were leeches?”

 

Harry barks a laugh, shouldering off his shirt and folding it up in his hands.

 

“I was fucking with you. I mean, come to think of it there _are_ probably leeches in there, but I’ve never been attacked, so.” He shrugs and toes off his shoes so he can set his folded shirt atop them.

 

“Attacked, what a wonderful word to use. Thanks.”

 

Harry just chuckles and starts on the fly of his jeans.

 

“Stop making excuses and strip.”

 

 

***

 

 

Louis is only in as far as his knees when he starts wincing at the squishy feeling of the lakebed under his feet.

 

Harry is already out, bobbing with the water around his shoulders. He’d tied his hair up, and Louis feels lucky in the respect that he’d managed to get him to keep his underwear on. It seemed like Harry was keen on having the hair-tie as his only item of clothing. That wouldn’t have boded well for Louis.

 

Harry is treading water roughly a quarter of the way out, laughing at Louis; and Louis feels himself getting grumpy. He wrinkles his nose one last time, before running, literally, as far as he can go before the water meets his chest and he has to swim instead.

 

It’s not that cold, not as cold as he was expecting, and the inky, murky feeling of the fact that it’s _lake water_ soon leaves his mind when Harry swims up to him and tugs him up close to his chest.

 

“Funnily enough,” Louis manages as Harry wraps him up in his arms, “larking about with you in what can probably only be called a cliché scene from a wet romance film is not the kind of dancing I was referring to when I said I wanted to rehearse at some point this week.”

 

Harry just grins, water dripping from his jaw and his nose and his lashes. “Hah. Wet romance.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes so much it almost gives him a headache.

 

“Well, come on then, Patrick Swayze. Lift me like a swan.”

 

“It’s called the Swan Lift,” Harry corrects, “and okay.”

 

And with that, he’s ducking under the surface of the water, positioning his hands at the smallest part of Louis’ waist and lifting, pushing Louis’ entire body up and out of the lake, up above his head-

 

-only to come crashing down on top of him with an almighty squawk.

 

Harry eventually resurfaces, sucking in a sudden breath and flicking the hair out of his face with a swoosh of his head.

 

“You’re supposed to be an _alive_ swan, not one who’s just been shot.” He says, ignoring the very colourful words being silently thrown at him via the daggers that Louis is shooting through his eyes. “Let’s try again-”

 

“I was joking you dickhead!” Louis quickly intercepts, putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders to stop him. “I was fucking joking. Don’t try and do that ever again.”

 

“But, it’s actually _in_ your routine. You just haven’t learnt that bit yet.” Harry informs him, then sticks his bottom lip out like a child. “And I like it.”

 

“Can we just-.” Louis sighs. “Let’s just stick to the stuff I’ve learnt already, yeah?”

 

Harry nods, and turns in the water so that his back is facing Louis.

 

“From the top then. All the lifts in order.”

 

 

***

 

 

Roughly an hour and a half later and they’ve thoroughly exhausted all the lifts Louis has already learned. They tried The Swan again – “but how fitting is the name, Lou!” – and both admitted that it’s gonna need some work.

 

Now Harry is pretending to be a dolphin, showing off his clicking noises before repeatedly diving sideways and splashing Louis with his feet every time he does it.

 

Louis’ getting pretty pissed off with the dolphin thing.

 

“Harry, god- Can we- Fucking stop swimming away from me when I’m talking to- Harry!”

 

Harry stops and turns to face him from a few metres away. The water is still relatively warmish, and Louis pushes himself over to where Harry is keeping himself afloat.

 

“Stop being a fucking dolphin.” He mutters, reaching up to collect a drop of water from Harry’s eyelash and flicking it off of his finger when it rests there. “Is there anything else you want to do while we’re here or can I head in for a shower?”

 

Harry smiles. “Actually-”

 

He pulls Louis into him with an arm around his middle, then moves the other arm to meet it. Louis frowns, his own arms coming naturally to rest at Harry’s shoulders.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Freestyling.” Harry shrugs. Then he moves, pulling Louis’ with him, and spins them in a small circle. His eyes never leave Louis’ and Louis wishes he could blame his shiver on the water, but he can’t.

 

Harry’s arms are warm around his middle, his skin hot under his hands where he rests them for support. His legs kick gently under the water, occasionally brushing Louis’, and his hair is soaked, dripping water down his neck and cheeks and mouth. Louis realises he probably looks exactly the same, sodden and pruned from the length of time they’ve been out here. There’s rarely any birdsong now, just the occasional call, and until Harry starts humming, it’s the only sound Louis can really register.

 

He listens carefully, trying to make out the tune tinkling from Harry’s vocal chords, perfectly in time with how they’re swaying through the water in ringlets and twirls.

 

Louis realises that if he were an onlooker right now, he’d be laughing at the sight of them both. But somehow, as a part of _it_ , whatever this moment is, he can’t find the slightest thing about it amusing.

 

Harry has closed his eyes, Louis notices, and for some reason it fills him with a sudden rush of courage. To do what, he doesn’t know. But he finds himself hoping that Harry keeps his eyes closed long enough for him to find out.

 

They continue swirling slowly through the water, barely disturbing the surface now, their legs finding a rhythm and kicking in sync to keep them turning and moving in time with one another. The natural dancer in both of them, Louis presumes.

 

He slides his hands up to Harry’s shoulders, watching the brief flicker of his eyelids. Water still runs from his hair, and it collects in the spaces between Louis’ finger and thumb on each hand. He watches the water there, clear against his skin, until it builds too much and he swipes his thumbs up across either side of Harry’s neck to be rid of it. His eyes flick to Harry’s again, watching his lashes twitch again the tops of his cheekbones, the water having dyed them a darker colour than usual, stark against his pale skin.

 

He’s so close to him.

 

He’s never been this close for this long before; and never with the courage he has now, where Harry’s eyes can’t see him looking, watching, studying, admiring.

 

He feels Harry’s arms tighten just a little around his waist, their lower chests pushed together. He can feel Harry’s breathing, even under the water, can feel the movement of his muscles as he pushes and pulls them in slow, steady circles across this small section of the lake. He can hear his gentle humming of a tune Louis still hasn’t been able to name.

 

And he realises, then. That he’s totally alone here.

 

With Harry’s eyes closed and no view of the house, Louis is totally alone here in Harry’s arms. And it’s this - combined with how warm the other man feels this close to him, combined with the softness of the water lapping around them both, combined with so many other things that he’s never brought to reason until now - that finally propels him to stretch up, just that tiny few millimetres that’s still left there between them, and touch his lips to Harry’s.

 

//

 

Naturally, Harry jerks away.

 

Not expecting the sudden touch there, he flinches in shock, pulling his lips from Louis’ in less than the length of a second. His eyes snap open, settling on a blue pair staring back, and although they are just as wide as his own, they hold humiliation, sadness and panic.

 

And Harry can’t have that.

 

In one quick motion, he’s ducking down again, capturing Louis’ mouth so swiftly and with such determination, it prompts a muffled noise of surprise from the smaller man.

 

The water around them laps at their skin, legs still treading water slowly beneath them. Harry is faintly aware of birds somewhere in the background but his attention is solely on the man in his arms.

 

Louis kissed him. Louis kissed him _first_. And now he’s kissing him again, with such a softness, and so tentatively that Harry feels bad. Louis is nervous, which is okay, but he’s _worried_ too. And Harry doesn’t like that thought one bit.

 

He reaches up, tightening his other arm around Louis’ waist to keep him close, and uses his free hand to gently cradle Louis’ jaw, sweeping the water there away and rubbing his thumb up to his ear, pressing his fingertips gently against his neck.

 

It calms him, working just as Harry had hoped, and he feels Louis relax in his arms. His mouth parts around Harry’s bottom lip and his can’t help smiling a little, probably ruining the kiss, but he’s too happy about this to _not_ smile.

 

Louis arms bend at the elbow to wrap fully around Harry’s shoulders and neck, pulling them flush together so their noses get a bit squashed, and it should ruin the kiss completely but it doesn’t because then Louis is smiling too, making Harry grin, which makes Louis start to laugh against his lips and teeth. It's a lovely sort of chaotic mess.

 

They part just slightly, and there's a silence for a moment, where Harry opens his eyes to see that Louis’ are still closed. So he closes his again too, unaware that a few seconds later, Louis does the exact same thing.

 

Harry strokes at the skin where Louis’ jaw protrudes in that lovely angle, his fingers shifting to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s not sure what’s okay, so he doesn’t do much else, just continues gently touching him there, and smiling against his mouth.

 

“Well, the wet romance thing was correct then…” Louis murmurs after a moment. His voice is more fragile that Harry’s ever heard it, so soft it sounds like he’s breathing the words more than speaking them. He feels each syllable flutter past his own lips.

 

It makes him chuckle, Louis’ comment, and he opens his eyes to find Louis smiling up at him.

 

“Bloody clichés we are.” Louis adds, and his voice this time holds a thread of something nervous. And as always he covers it up with humour. “Both our pants are wet, we’re gonna make a mess of our jeans.”

 

So Harry kisses him again to tell him it’s okay.

 

“Come on.” He says, jerking his head in the direction of the bank. “It’ll start getting cold soon.”

 

 

***

 

 

“You two are chipper.” Robin smirks as he passes Louis the salad bowl.

 

Louis chuckles politely. “We’ve had a productive day, Robin. I’d started to miss my regular routine so Harry took me out to the lake for some rehearsal time.”

 

“Ah.” Robin nods, still smiling. “Good to hear it. The lake is lovely. And we do like happy guests, don’t we, Anne?”

 

Anne laughs and reaches for her wine glass.

 

“We do indeed. I’m glad you’ve had a good day, Louis. And Harry why haven’t you shown Louis the town yet? It’s only a short drive from here, and there’s some lovely little cafes and shops down there.”

 

Harry laughs. “I’m sure Louis would much rather explore things he can’t see in London, Mum.” He shakes his head, then a smirk graces his lips. “Or is this your way of telling me you have errands you want me to run?”

 

Anne’s grin gives her away.

 

“Only a few bits and bobs.” Her eyes crinkle and her smile is wide. “I’m sure Louis’ll love seeing some humans that aren’t our family too!” She chuckles, receiving the salad bowl from Gemma on her left.

 

“Very well.” Harry nods. “Looks like our plans for tomorrow are made, Louis.” He throws the smaller man across from him a look. “Any _bits and bobs_ you need yourself?”

 

“Oh, don’t start taking the Michael, Harry Edward, else you’ll get no dessert.” Anne warns, though it’s playful and entirely transparent. “And it’s Spotted Dick, with homemade custard. So watch out.”

 

Harry’s eyes find Louis’ and he doesn’t have to say anything before Louis is bringing his napkin to his mouth to hide his poorly-stifled laughter, his lips pursing and twisting to the side.

 

Harry is full on grinning, crooked and with a knowing smirk in his eye. He scrunches his nose and pretends it’s a sneeze when Gemma throws him a questioning look.

 

“Anyone need a top-up?”

 

 

***

 

 

“I don’t know why your mum seems to think I’m sick of your family or something.” Louis says from his place tucked up in bed. He mumbles the words, picking at his nail beds. He should really stop biting them.

 

Harry is brushing his teeth at the sink, the ensuite door left open. He shrugs and spits, shoving his toothbrush under the water and using it to suck some into his mouth to rinse.

 

“I don’t think she’s being serious. She’s probably trying to make polite jokes, that’s all.” Harry answers as he turns off the tap and chucks his brush into the holder.

 

Louis watches him wipe his mouth on the hand towel and switch the ensuite light off as he comes back into the bedroom.

 

Somewhere outside an owl is hooting every seven seconds. Louis counts the spaces between them.

 

“Hmm. I don’t know. I haven’t, like… I don’t know, given anyone-”

 

“Stop right there. If you’re going to ask whether you’ve given any impression that you hate it here, you’re wrong. Shut up.” Harry dismisses him and climbs into the bed beside him.

 

“Um…?” Louis looks at him.

 

Harry meets his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

 

“Ugh, this is so tiring. Can we _please_ stop pretending like we didn’t both know this would happen at some point this week?”

 

Louis laughs lightly, studying his face for a second.

 

“Yeah, okay. But it already happened. Last night.”

 

Harry frowns from where he’d already started snuggling down under the duvet. His hair is dark against the cream pillows and his eyes blink up at Louis in confusion.

 

“So what was the “um” for then?” He asks, cocking his head like a puppy.

 

Louis sticks both arms out to his sides, palms up. “Um… where’s my goodnight kiss?”

 

“ _Oh_. Oh god, _no_...” Harry grimaces and bundles down further into the duvet writhing and rolling around like he’s in pain. “Oh _god_ , that was so _cheesy_! Louis, how could you? Someone fucking spare me-”

 

“Oh my god.” Louis’ laughing way too hard for nearly half-eleven at night. “You sound so much like me.”

 

Harry is completely hidden by the duvet now, nothing but a solid white lump of feathers and cotton. A couple of rogue curls peek out the top of his blanket burrito.

 

“Well, fine then.” Louis crosses his arms and turns away from him, readjusting his head on his pillow and closing his eyes. “No kiss. Whatever. Goodnight.”

 

What Harry does next is ridiculously predictable and probably just as cheesy as Louis’ earlier comment, but Louis goes with it anyway, using his hands to pull Harry’s face closer to his as the younger man hovers above with an arm beside his head.

 

“ _Night night, Louis_.” He whispers against Louis’ damp mouth. It's ruined by his stupid baby-voice inflection.

 

Louis snorts a laugh and cranes up to catch another kiss, slightly giddy with it all.

 

“ _Night night, Harry Edward_.” He teases, mimicking Anne and earning himself a set of fingers jabbed into his side. It tickles and he laughs so loudly Harry slaps a hand over his mouth to shut him up. Neither of them verbalise the fact that it makes Louis immediately bloom a shade of pink.

 

“Sleep well.” Harry leans down and kisses the back of his hand, teasing Louis right back, before rolling away from him and switching off the lamp on his side.

 

Louis switches off his own, then slowly sinks down beneath the covers and sticks his cold feet against the backs of Harry’s calves for warmth.

 

Harry hisses at the shock, but doesn’t protest.

 

Louis could get used to this.


	14. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes changes in the heart department can feel a lot like thunder rattling through your chest. The important thing is to remain optimistic. Cuddles help too, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next instalment! I had such a giggle writing this. Sometimes dialogue is my favourite thing to write. 
> 
> As always, thanks for the continued support and patience. This is all for you guys. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Louis wakes up the next morning in what can only be described as a nest.

The downy feather duvet is bunched up, big and fluffy around his ears. It’s plush and soft, and it crinkles around him as he breathes. He can feel his toes poking out the bottom where it's risen too high on the bed. He's quite comfortable, though. And thinking about it, he could happily stay here for a few more hours.

There's also something damp and wet near his neck, however, and he's not sure what it is. Something nudges at his right leg too, and the heat near his neck grows hotter for a few seconds, then suddenly a great portion of the duvet that was once covering him is no longer covering him quite as much, and the thing nudging at his leg disappears, and the heat at his neck disappears too, leaving behind an uncomfortable damp patch that is now growing cold.

Okay. So his nest has been attacked. But. This is actually still quite comfy. A piece of the duvet is now cushioning under his right cheek and it's soft and cool and welcoming.

The last thing he is consciously aware of is the fact that now, rather than just his toes, both feet are uncovered.

He drifts off again anyway.

 

***

 

The next time he wakes he immediately knows he's alone in the bed. His feet are covered again and the duvet is neatly spread over his whole body, just his chin pokes above the top.

He fans his right arm out along the sheet but can't feel any remnants of heat from where Harry used to be. He’s been gone a while then. There's no noise from the ensuite bathroom, so Harry must be downstairs already.

Something about that saddens Louis a little, and he heaves himself out of bed with slower movements than usual; gets washed and dressed in silence. It feels woefully abnormal.

By the time he appears in the doorway to the living room where happy chatter can be heard, he's feeling less lonely, and more guilty about being in bed for so long after everyone else already got up.

“Louis, love! Good morning! Can I get you a cup of tea?” Anne immediately springs into action, her eyes warm and excited and homely. Huh. New one.

Louis’ eyes find Harry though, catching his warm smile and suddenly feeling full of the need to go over and kiss him on the mouth. But he won't. Because that's conventional of something they're not. And would likely cause a cacophony of confusion amongst everyone else in the room.

“That would be lovely, Anne, thanks. I can make it if you want, save you getting up.” Louis offers, gifting her his warmest pre-noon smile.

“Oh! Well, I won't be one to argue with that!” Anne chuckles. “Mugs are in the cupboard above the kettle. Spoons in the top drawer.”

“Milk in the fridge.” Gemma adds from her spot on the floor by the French doors. She's smirking as she strokes the cat that's curled in her cross-legged lap. She's unabashedly taking the piss out of her mother.

Louis grins and ducks out the room quickly.

He manages to get as far as the drawer for his spoon when, as predicted, he is joined in the kitchen.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Harry chirps.

Louis retrieves his teaspoon from the drawer and whirls round, pointing it across the kitchen at him.

“ _You_ didn't wake me.”

“Oh, I couldn't.” Harry drifts over to him, eyes fixed on his. He lifts a hand and gently fiddles with the end of Louis’ growing fringe. “You looked so peaceful.”

Louis scoffs and rolls his eyes, turning away from Harry’s hand to return to his tea-making.

“As if.”

“No, I'm serious.” Harry insists, turning to lean back against the counter beside Louis and folding his arms. He tilts his head to the side a bit. “Well, that, and you threatened me physical harm once I'd tried more than twice.”

Louis stops stirring. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Harry repeats, then chuckles.

“Well, that's definitely more believable.” Louis nods.

Harry's arms suddenly encase him from behind and his spoon chinks against the inside of his mug. The kettle clicks off the boil.

“Oh, shush. You're a beautiful sleeper.” He says into the side of Louis’ hair.

It's new, this. Being held by Harry for a reason other than ballet. And the way he's talking about him sounds so rawly _genuine_ , too. Louis swallows and sets to concentrating on pouring the hot water carefully.

“Watching me sleep, hmm?” He jokes.

Harry squeezes him a little, causing a warm flush to rise in Louis’ chest. “Ignoring my cuddles, hmm?”

Louis sets the kettle down and let's the tea brew for a few minutes, turning around in Harry's arms in the meantime and setting him with a poorly-hidden smile sort-of look. He rests his hands on Harry’s upper arms, curling his fingers around his biceps and meeting his eyes.

“Anyone could walk in.”

“Oh, are we meant to be hiding?” Harry quirks an eyebrow.

“No, but you know why I'm saying it.” Louis answers. “It'll cause questions.” He slides his hands up to drape his arms around Harry’s broad shoulders anyway.

“True.” Harry seems to think on it a moment, shifting a little with Louis’ arms around him and locking his fingers at the small of Louis’ back. “And you don't know the answers yourself yet, so would rather wait before being asked those questions…” He raises both eyebrows and smiles, patiently. “Correct?”

Louis warms a little, eyes flicking down to Harry's lips and back again.

“How did you know?”

Harry shrugs. “I know you.” He says. “Now, am I gonna get a good morning kiss or do I have to beg for it?”

“Ooh, that could be interesting.” Louis smirks, tightening his arms to pull himself in a little further, eyes now fixed on Harry’s mouth as he gets comfortable.

“Not in Mum’s kitchen it wouldn't be.” Harry shakes his head with a chuckle. “Now bloody kiss me.”

“Wow, demanding much.” Louis quips, but does as he's told.

Rocking up onto his toes, he uses his arms around Harry’s neck to pull the taller man down to meet him the rest of the way. It's a soft brush of lips, so slight and gentle, and Louis delicately parts his mouth to catch Harry’s bottom lip a little, feeling the arms around his waist tighten when he does. It pulls his body flush against the taller man’s and his stomach jumps.

“So,” he whispers, pulling away but staying as close to Harry as before, lips tickling together when he speaks, “This... is new.”

“You mean including yesterday or not including yesterday?” Harry replies, his voice the same cautious level as Louis’.

“All of it.” Louis answers, and bumps his mouth to Harry’s another time to emphasise what he's talking about. “Yesterday seemed like a bit of a ‘spur of the moment thing’.” He explains, but quickly notices some of the light leave Harry’s eyes at that. “But I'm glad it’s continuing into today.” He adds, hoping to bring that sparkle back. “And- … Uh, that it's less… sporadic. I think. Shit, what word do I mean? I don't mean sporadic.”

Harry chuckles, warm and bright against Louis lips and chin.

“It's okay, I know what you mean. It feels more purposeful today. Like we both mean what we're doing, and that the changes that may have occurred,” he pauses to smile, “feel right.” He nudges his mouth to Louis’ again, lingering a little longer than necessary for what initially seemed like a punctuational kiss. “Get back to your tea, it'll stew else.”

Louis smiles at Harry's concern, once again realising how well the man knows him, and pecks him again – because it was getting too long since he'd last done that – and drops his arms from his lovely broad shoulders to turn around and face his teabag situation.

Unsurprisingly, though still very new and unusual, Harry stays right where he his, tucking his chin over Louis’ shoulder to watch him stir the spoon in the mug.

“Uh, where does your Mum like her teabags putting?”

Harry jolts away from Louis’ shoulder slightly. “Is that a euphemism?”

“What? No!” Louis nearly chokes. “Oh my god, no, I meant as in these,” Louis jabs at the bag in his mug with the teaspoon. “Does she have a little spoon rest or teabag holder somewhere…?” He looks along the countertop for something of that sort.

“Teabag holder?”

“Yes,” Louis sighs, “somewhere to put used teabags once you've taken them out of the cup.”

Harry blinks and straightens up slowly behind him, his arms once wrapped around his middle pull back, leaving just his hands resting at the dips of Louis’ waist.

“Uh, we call that the bin.”

Louis tuts and rolls his eyes. “You could've just said.” And fishes his bag out of the mug, then passes the spoon to Harry.

“What do I want that for?”

Louis suppresses his smile. “Because I don't know where the bin is. Duh.”

Harry makes a show of rolling his eyes and taking the spoon, curtsying lavishly before Louis, then turning to head for the bin by the kitchen island.

Louis laughs. “Thank you, Harold dearest. You're so very helpful.”

Harry * _phwops_ * the bag into the bin and lets the lid drop. “You're lucky I like you a little bit.”

“A little bit.” Louis chuckles.

“A little bit.” Harry repeats, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk before passing it over to Louis, along with the spoon. “A teabag’s worth.”

 

***

 

The weather is odd today. Just like Harry had been talking about. Yesterday was warm enough to swim in the lake, but today, though the sun is shining brightly, there's a bitter wind that bites the skin and aggravates the nipples.

“Wrap up warm, Harold. Don't want those multiple nipples of yours to get stroppy.” Louis says as they head for the front door.

“First of all, how do you know I have multiples. And second,” Harry grunts as he pulls on a boot, seated at the bottom of the stairs. “What makes you so sure they're liable to “get stroppy”…?”

“I have _seen_ your naked torso, Harry Edward. We _have_ been sharing a bedroom for the past four days.”

“Oh? You mean you’ve been _looking_?” Harry smirks, delighted at his find. “How _interesting_ …” He draws out, long and pompous as he finishes with his boots and sorts the bottoms of his jeans out.

“Looking, gawking, memorising. Whatever.” Louis waves a hand and heads over to pull the front door open.

“ _Memorising_.” Harry muses as he comes up behind him. “Why-ever for, I wonder?”

Louis grins. “Get in the car, you.”

 

***

 

The little town Anne was referring too turns out to be exactly that.

Little.

Everywhere seems self-dependant and independent, with book-shops and butchers, tailors and greengrocers, and on the corner near a dirt trail that winds down and out of sight, a tiny fishmongers. Louis guesses the trail leads to the nearest lake. There's lots of those around here, he's come to realise. On the drive down to the town he'd seen at least three more.

It doesn't take them long to complete the errands Anne sent Harry on. They find the bits and pieces she wanted with relative ease, thanks to Harry’s fair familiarity with the layout of the thin, winding streets. They're on their way out of the last of Anne’s specified shops – a small haberdashery that smelled like old fabrics and warm sewing machines – when the first drop of rain hits Harry’s cheek.

“Oh, look at that sky. How miserable.”

Louis peers up to where Harry is looking. The sky is a sickly grey, thick with a blanket of angry looking clouds, and as he lifts his face to it, a droplet lands on his forehead.

“D’you reckon that storm is coming then?” He asks, wiping it off.

Harry looks up and down the street they're standing on, watching the wind pick up and rattle through shop awnings, swinging A-frame signs against their bracketing and knocking the Florist’s hanging baskets about.

“Looks like it.” He mutters. “We’d best get back. At least we got all the stuff Mum wanted. I can always bring you back on the way home to have another look. Once the weather is better.”

“ _If_ the weather is better.” Louis counters as they begin to walk back towards where they'd parked the car. He's got a bag of canned food in his hand and the tins clash against each other as he walks.

“Uh, excuse me, Mr Tomlinson, more _optimism_ please.” Harry playfully scolds.

The rain picks up then, coming down properly now. It’s using the wind as a plaything, blowing about in sudden bursts across their faces. Louis watches the owner of the greengrocers’ hurry about outside to cover his produce with sheets of tarpaulin.

“Uh, excuse me, _Monsieur Styles_ , but I think I’m allowed to- ah, _shit_!” Something hits his eye with a sudden, stinging force. “ _Ow_ , fuck! What the fuck?”

Harry grabs Louis’ hand then, tugging him along quicker as their car comes into view.

“I'll have a look at it in the car. It's probably grit salt from the road. They've been expecting snow here for weeks now.” He manages to yell over the noise of the weather as he pulls Louis along. They're both soaked almost to the bone, the onslaught of rain growing heavier every minute. Louis lets Harry lead him, keeping his sore eye squeezed shut against any more flying debris. He has half a mind to shut both. Whatever hit his eye is still in there and it burns like a bitch.

Harry bundles Louis into the car first, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes so much he must hardly be able to see. It's roaring around them, rocking the car a little and Louis pleads with anything or anyone that is listening that the thunder and lightning doesn't start until they're safely back at the cottage. 

Harry shoves himself into the drivers seat and pulls the door shut behind him, encasing them both in a much quieter, much calmer environment than the one outside. The weather is still battering the car, wind lashing rain against the windows, but inside, at least for now, it's warmer and dry and a bit like a sanctuary from the tempestuous world outside. Just for now.

“C’mere.” Harry murmurs, turning to Louis and lifting his face to look at him closely. He cradles his jaw with one hand and reaches up with the end of his scarf to dry his face a bit.

Louis chuckles under his touch. “Thanks, Mum.”

Harry chuckles too. “Anytime, my baby boy.”

Louis stops chuckling and drops his eyes from Harry’s. Okay. Moving on.

He's still got one eye clenched shut and now that Harry has wiped the rain away, he can see that it’s weeping a little, obviously irritated.

“I'm going to try lifting your eyelid a little bit, okay? Stay still. And tell me if it hurts and you need me to stop.” Harry says, dropping his scarf and turning Louis’ face a little further towards him. “Okay?”

The rain is relentless, thrashing against the windows around them, blurring out the outside world. Louis looks at Harry, watches his face as he waits for his reply.

“Okay.”

Harry nods and gently places the pad of his thumb on Louis’ delicate eyelid. It flinches under his touch and Harry pauses, searching Louis’ face for pain. Then he continues, gently pushing up on the lid until he sees a slither of the white of Louis’ eye beneath it. Gently and slowly and carefully, he pulls the eye open, listening to every hitch of Louis’ breath for signs of too much discomfort. Louis’ lashes are damp against the skin of his thumb, clumped and dark, as if he's been crying.

“The good thing is,” Harry tells him, his voice quiet and close, “If it is salt, it'll have started dissolving by now, so it shouldn't be as big as it was when it went in.” He explains. “The bad news, is that this means there’s now salt particles in your tear ducts, _and_ , if it's a smaller piece that's left, it'll be harder for me to get out.”

Louis huffs a humourless laugh. “Why’d you bother with the good news, exactly?”

Harry meets his good eye. “Just trying to stay optimistic.”

If Louis could roll his eyes, he would.

“Look to the left for me.” Harry gently instructs. “And the right.”

“Do you moonlight as a bloody optician?” Louis quips.

Harry chuckles. “No, I moonlight as a stripper. Now look up.”

“Wha-”

“Ahah! There's the little bastard.” Harry suddenly cries, then moves the hand that was cradling Louis’ jaw and uses his little finger to guide the salt crystal slowly out of the bottom of Louis’ eye socket. Everything about it burns, and Louis grits his teeth to stop from whimpering.

“Got it.” Harry finally says, both hands leaving Louis face.

Louis blinks a lot before opening his eyes and letting his vision focus on the finger Harry is holding up before him. On the very tip sits a tiny lump of off-white crystal, along with a whole lot of Louis’ tears.

“Great. Excellent. Thank you.” He says, pushing Harry’s hand away from him and turning in his seat to face forwards. He lifts a knuckle to his still-burning eye. “Now let's get the fuck back to the house.”

“Don't rub it!” Harry shouts, grabbing Louis by the wrist. “There's still salt in there, you'll only make it worse. We need to wash it when we get in. Just try not to rub it, okay?”

Louis looks at him.

Harry blinks back, fingers still curled around his wrist.

“Okay.” He says quietly, and drops his hand from his eye.

Harry squeezes his wrist gently, then lets go to start the car up.

The storm seems to only be growing worse around them.

 

***

 

As predicted, Anne is a flurry of overwhelmed worry when they return to the cottage.

She shoves warm towels and blankets into their arms no sooner than they are through the front door, tells them to use the big bathroom to get warm and clean and dry again, then informs them she's making “factory-loads of hot chocolate and porridge so come downstairs as soon as you're done.”

“Bloody hell, my mother can be a busy-body.”

Louis chuckles, sitting on the closed toilet lid as Harry fiddles inside the medicine cabinet for a pipette. He's shivering, still in his wet clothes because Harry insisted they sort out his eye before anything else.

“She’s only worried about you. We could easily both end up with colds after today.” He picks as his pruning fingers. “Even still.”

Harry plucks the pipette from the packaging and sets the hot tap to run lukewarm, sticking his finger under it and jutting his hip out as he leans against the sink to wait.

“God, I hope not. I've only just been given the go ahead to be able to kiss you and now a bloody cold is gonna ruin it.”

Louis watches him test the water. He smiles.

“I don't think it matters if we've _both_ got colds, you know. Pretty sure it's all the same germs in that case.”

Harry chuckles, filling the pipette up with water and moving to crouch between Louis’ legs. His free hand rubs at Louis’ clothed knee.  

“Well, then I hope we both get colds.” He tilts Louis chin down to face him, the pipette balanced between his fingers like a chopstick.

“Or that we both don't.’ Louis suggests instead, watching Harry reach up towards his sore eye.

“Good thinking. That's probably better, yep.” Harry laughs lightly.

Louis grins.

“Just trying to be optimistic.”

 

***

 

Once Louis’ eye is washed out properly and no longer burns, Harry insists that he runs him a bath. He chucks in a load of his mum’s bubblebath while Louis’ changing out of his wet clothes, makes sure the water is sufficiently hot enough to steam out any possible cold germs, then calls for Louis that it's ready when he is.

Louis appears a few seconds later, hair already wet from the rain but starting to dry in ugly, tousled clumps across his forehead. Harry reckons he still looks cute. He's got a towel around his waist and another one in his arms, which he sets down on the toilet lid and points at.

“That's for you, I stuck them in the airing cupboard for a bit ‘cause they'd cooled down.”

Harry looks at the towel and smiles, then gestures to the steaming bath beside him.

“All yours.”

“You're not joining me?” Louis cocks his head to the side.

Harry almost chokes on the lavender-scented air. “Sorry?”

This kind of talk had previously all been jokes, but Louis is slowly stepping up to him, tugging him close with two hands on his sodden shirt.

“Well, I figured since we kiss now, you wouldn't mind it?” He purrs, stretching up to mouth along Harry’s jawline. “It's only naked bodies.”

Harry blinks as Louis trails his hot mouth along his sensitive skin, hands twitching forwards towards Louis’ towel.

Yes, this is wonderful. And Louis mouth is amazingly talented doing what it's doing. But. It doesn't feel… _time_ yet. He wants- He doesn't know. Should he? It's incredibly tempting. Not only is Louis’ body smooth and golden and mere centimetres from his fingertips, totally exposed underneath that towel – and god knows he’ll probably be even silkier to touch when he's _wet_ – and the bath water is the perfect temperature too, and he's still in his cold, saturated clothes… Clothes that Louis is right now clinging from in order to stretch up and reach that sensitive spot behind his ear and oh god, he could really say yes to this. Wouldn't even feel all that guilty. Except- Wait- No. Yes, he would feel guilty. Guilty that it wasn't more special. Yes, call him a sap. But he doesn't want to have this moment be because a storm thrashed the shit out of them. He can't. Louis means more than that. _They_ mean more than that.

He's about to step back, away from Louis’ bewitching touches, when- Louis does it for him.

“Relax, big boy.” He chuckles, reaching up to stroke his face. He's holding his towel around him with the other hand and Harry stupidly glances down. Louis’ towel isn't hiding much of his modesty at this point. There’re darkish hairs just peeking into view, and, well, a certain amount of tenting going on. Harry gulps, almost audibly. And tells himself that, well, good to know, if nothing else. For now.

“Hey, Haz?” Louis is cupping his face now, concern etching into his brow. “You alright?”

Harry nods.

“Your, um… Your eye is starting to look better already, that's good.” He smiles, a little too forcefully. He tries to laugh with truthful colour but it comes out a bit nervy. “You'd best- Get in the bath. It’ll lose its temperature soon.”

Louis studies his face for a few more seconds, then stretches up to kiss him firmly on the mouth.

“Thanks for running it for me. I'll do the same for you once I'm out.”

And with that he turns around and drops his towel completely.

“Um, so- I'll be in our room then, err- Have a nice arse- _bath!_ ” He squawks. “ _Bath_.” He’s already heading for the door, Louis’ light laughter following him.

“Thanks Harry, you too.” He giggles, but Harry is already gone.

 

***

 

Both of them bathed, dried and dressed in their comfiest sets of joggers and jumper for Louis, jumper and pyjama trousers for Harry, they've retrieved their hot chocolate and porridge from downstairs and told Anne they’ll bring down the dishes in the morning. Pinky promise.

She'd been okay about it, under the condition that they wash them up too; which was also pinky promised.

Their empty porridge bowls rest on the floor under the low windowsill where they're currently sitting, backs to opposite walls like bookends, sipping their hot drinks and watching the sky darken outside. It's still raining, and thunder has joined the gang, great big rumbles of it every eleven-or-so seconds. Harry had begun counting to determine whether it was coming toward them or moving away. Louis had asked him very nicely, and Harry had cottoned on that his guest wasn't a fan of thunder storms. The rumbles started out every twenty seconds, so unfortunately for Louis, it's only getting closer. When they first established this, Harry had gotten up and grabbed the blankets from the end of the bed, draping the biggest one over them both, end to end. Louis now sits with his knees up to his chest, and Harry has stretched his legs out either side of him, his feet nudging against Louis’ hips every time a rumble sounds.

They're just about finished with their drinks when the lightning starts, cracking across the sky in a silent, sudden flash of white light, so fast you'd blink and miss it.

But Louis doesn't miss it. He jolts, his whole body jumping, and nearly drops his mug.

“Jesus, shit.”

Harry squeezes his feet either side of him.

“Hey, look at me.” He gently coaxes. Louis does, and Harry takes in his shimmering eyes, the crease in his forehead and the way he's swallowing too hard. “You don't like this at all do you?”

Louis is breathing shakily, fingers gripping his mug so tight his knuckles are rigid.

“The thunder I can just about handle. I think.” He admits, his voice wobbly. “But the lightning-” as if on cue, another bolt strikes across the sky and lights up the trees for half a second, sending Louis’ breathing into over-drive. “I’d rather not be right by the window right now, if that's okay.” He rushes out, then slides down from the windowsill and puts his mug down where he was sitting.

“Of course, shit, let's come away.” Harry scrambles up too, eager to get Louis secure and safe and _breathing_ _normally_ before another bolt arrives. He lifts the bowls and spoons up onto the windowsill along with their mugs, then yank the curtains closed in front of them. They'll get them in the morning.

“Get under the duvet.” Harry tells Louis, just as another rumble of thunder rattles the sky. The rain is still hard against the glass of the window and Harry hopes the single-glazing is strong enough to hold against it. “Come on,” he says as Louis climbs in his own side, “Nothing wrong with a manly thunder cuddle. Let's have ya.”

It at least makes Louis giggle, chewing at his thumb nail as he slides under the covers. Harry follows down Louis’ side of the bed to switch his lamp off, then, to try and prompt another laugh out of him, rolls completely over Louis to get to his side, punching an ‘ _oof!_ ’ out of the smaller man and cackling loud enough to drown out the next rumble of thunder.

“You're fucking heavy, you great big oaf!” Louis grits out.

Harry stops rolling and lands beside him on his back, facing Louis with a huffy frown. “Rude.”

Louis laughs.

The other lamp gets switched off too and then they're both enveloped in soft darkness. Another flash of lightning peeks in under the curtains but Louis doesn't flinch as much this time.

After a few seconds of listening to the rain, Louis tuts.

“I believe I was promised a thunder cuddle, whatever that is.”

Harry snorts. “Don't look at me. I don't cuddle _rude_ people.”

Louis laughs, brighter this time, and rolls onto his side to face him.

“I'm sorry for calling you heavy and a great big oaf.” He says, tucking his chin against Harry’s left shoulder. He pouts. “Really, really sorry. Sorry times a thousand, sorry for as many grains of sand-!”

“Oh, shut the bloody hell up, you chattering little…” Harry encases the smaller man in his arms, rocking him against his chest and slotting their legs together as another rumble sounds outside.

Louis narrows his eyes. “Chattering little what?”

Harry leans his head back to look down at him, ice-blue eyes blinking up through those lovely lashes. Except they're challenging, looking just about ready to be offended and snappy.

“Chattering little _Louis_.” He goes for, wrapping him tighter against him and shoving Louis’ face into his neck to prevent further griping. “Chattering little Louis, that's what you are.”

Louis grumbles something against his neck but thunder drowns it out. Huh. It must be right above them now. Harry sucks in a deep breath, hoping it will encourage Louis to do the same, calming him.

Coincidentally, the next rumble is louder, starting with an almighty bang, and not only that, but it is coupled with another flash of lightning, and Louis whole body tightens where he’s cuddled into Harry’s chest.

Harry makes a mental note to never mention this night ever again. Louis will probably hate how he gets during storms, and Harry would hate making him feel silly about it. Everyone has things they prefer not to talk about ever, and Harry understands that this is most likely one of Louis’. He only feels privileged that Louis doesn't seem to mind him knowing, and better yet, is seeking him out for comfort.

It warms Harry’s chest to realise this, and he squeezes Louis tighter to him, pressing a kiss into his freshly-washed hair – smelling of lavender, no surprise – and brushes their legs together a little.

“I've got you, Lou. No thunder storm or lightning bolt is gonna change that.” He whispers into his hair.

It’s gross and sappy, but hey, so is Harry. And to be honest, some moments call for _just_ those two adjectives. So Harry doesn't care in the slightest.

He tugs Louis impossibly closer, watching his eyelids flutter in fright.

“I've got you.”


	15. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their time in Scotland draws to an end, Harry decides to treat his family to his cooking. Louis both helps him and seeks help of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! So sad to say that the Scotland trip is almost over! But things are sure to get interested back in London too. 
> 
> Just a heads up, for those of you on tumblr (which I'm guessing is quite a few) come and find me at iris-avis. I love to chat to you all there, and I also keep an updated bio, revealing the title of the next fic I'm working on. So if you'd like to know in advance, or try and have a cheeky guess, check out my bio there, and follow me too, because I might just feel like posting some sneak peeks. ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!

Louis is restless. The weather is obviously keeping him from sleeping deeply and he wakes again while it's still dark out, tossing and turning beside Harry.

 

Harry blinks his eyes hard a couple of times, willing some life into them, and sucks in a deep, waking breath before rolling over to face the fidgeting man on his left side.

 

The storm is over, pretty much. Only rain remains, and it's beating against the windows with slightly less rage than it was when they first fell asleep, creating more of a lulling background ambience rather than the soundtrack of panic it was before. The room isn't pitch black either, there's light coming in from under the closed curtains, spilling a soft, liquid stripe onto the carpet below. The air is still and quiet inside their room, if he listens over the sounds of Louis shuffling about, that is.

 

Harry watches as the smaller man turns over again, lifting his fluffy head off the pillow a couple of times as if he can't get his neck comfy. Then he shifts his hips and bends one leg up towards himself, then straightens it again, then tucks his arms up under the pillow with a huffy little whiny noise. Then sighs.

 

Harry smiles to himself, witnessing Louis grow more and more frustrated by the second. Louis’ eyes are squinted shut in tight anguish, nose wrinkling like there's a bad smell somewhere. He huffs again, breathes deeply like he's finally found a comfortable position, and for a few seconds it's quiet again, Louis is still and silent.

 

Then he groans and shifts his knees up into his chest and Harry decides it’s a good time to step in.

 

“Would another cuddle help?”

 

There's a pause.

 

“S’hot.” Louis replies on a sigh, eyes still closed.

 

“No then?”

 

There's silence for a moment, then Louis heaves an almighty breath – much bigger than the last few – and grumpily shuffles closer to Harry under the duvet.

 

“Well, I don't want to put you out or anything.” Harry chuckles, opening up his arms for Louis anyway. “Hey, if you're too warm we can always swap out the duvet for those blankets?”

 

"No, s’fine. Shush. Sleep.” Louis mumbles into Harry’s collarbone.

 

“I thought that's what you were struggling with?” Harry chuckles again, raising an eyebrow down at the man cuddled into his side.

 

Louis sighs again, letting it peter out into a weak, high-pitched hum. “Ssh.”

 

“ _Do_ you want the blankets instead?” Harry asks again, checking.

 

“Honest t’god, ‘Arry, f’you don’t shut up m’gonna shove you out.”

 

“Shove me out the bed?” Harry smiles, amused at Louis’ sleepy threats.

 

“Mhm. Right out.” He says, and pauses for so long Harry thinks he's finished. He shuffles again and pushes his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, sighing once more, though this time more contently, then, “So shush.”

 

Harry chuckles. “Okay, baby, I'll shush.”

 

He freezes straight away, holding his breath in his throat, aware of what just slipped out. Even with Louis three winks from slumber and cuddled tightly into his side, Harry worries. He's silent, waiting for Louis to say something, or maybe just fall asleep. If he falls asleep then he most likely didn't hear it, or he's pretending he didn't. Which. Either way, Harry can totally do. He can do that. That's perfect.

 

But Louis doesn't fall asleep. Because he shuffles again, slotting one leg through both of Harry’s at the ankle, the arm thrown over Harry’s bare chest tightens like he's clinging koala-style. He breathes out against the sensitive skin at Harry’s neck.

 

He says nothing though, so he probably heard. He's probably just pretending he didn't. Probably.

 

But Harry can't entertain guesses, so he decides to just drop it. He sucks in a deep breath again and starts forgetting it ever happened. It's a little too soon for all that stuff, he thinks, and besides, it's not that important anyway. Everything's fine.

 

He breathes deeply again and turns his attention back to Louis.

 

“You okay?” He squeezes the arm that's holding Louis close to him, then drags his fingertips gently across Louis’ bare shoulder in small circles. He presses a kiss to his hairline.

 

“Mhm.” Louis replies, though Harry can already feel him starting to sweat against his side.

 

"If you get too warm just throw the duvet off, I don't mind.”

 

“M’okay for now.” Louis replies. “Thanks.”

 

“Not at all.” Harry kisses him again, his hairline slightly damp beneath his lips. “Sleep well, Lou.”

 

Louis hums, eyes still closed, arm and leg still intertwined with Harry, and moves just the tiniest bit to press a kiss of his own against Harry’s pec.

 

“Night night.” He replies. “Baby.”

 

And even half asleep and virtually incomprehensible with it, Harry can still hear the smirk in Louis’ voice.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When morning comes, Harry is the first to wake up, as has become usual now.

 

He carefully slides out of bed, deciding to let Louis continue sleeping for as long as he can, given how much sleep he probably lost overnight.

 

But by the time Harry’s been the to the toilet and brushed his teeth, Louis is awake, sitting up amongst crumpled pillows and fiddling with the top of the duvet in his lap.

 

He looks beautiful, Harry thinks, all sleepy and groggy, hair sticking up like fluffy duck’s tails in odd directions, the bare skin of his chest and arms golden against the bedding around him. His eyes are squinty from too-little sleep and his cheeks are slightly reddened. He hasn't met Harry’s eyes yet.  

 

“Morning, Lou.” Harry chirps, cheerful and warm as he makes his way back into the bedroom. “How did you sleep in the end?”

 

Louis is quiet, still not looking at him.

 

Harry frowns, coming to stand at the end of the bed. “Lou?”

 

“I made a right tit of meself, didn't I?”

 

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, moving closer to sit on Louis’ side of the bed and gently resting a hand on his forearm there. He traces soft patterns on it as he speaks.

 

“I don’t think that at all.” He meets Louis’ eyes. A bird outside the closed window sings the same note in a loop of four repeats, pausing for only two or so seconds in-between. Harry chuckles at that too. “Lou, I could tell you were frightened last night-”

 

“-Oh god, don’t say ‘frightened’, that makes me sound about eight.” Louis brings a hand up to his face.

 

“Okay,” Harry smiles again, moving to trace patterns on the inside of Louis’ left palm instead. “You were unsettled, and uncomfortable, and there’s no way _I_ would’ve made a tit of _myself_ by completely ignoring that. I care about you.” He swipes two fingertips across the place where Louis’ pulse jumps at his wrist. “And seeing you upset like that made me want to help, of course it did.”

 

He watches Louis swallow, the hand that had been brought to his face is now stuck in his mouth at the nails. He’s biting them and watching Harry with wary eyes. “So clinging to you like a child all night… That was all justified, was it?”

 

It’s not snarky, but Harry guesses that if Louis were properly awake, it would’ve been. He flips Louis’ hand over and laces their fingers, shifting closer on the bed and taking Louis’ other hand out of his mouth.

 

“Yep. Completely.”

 

Louis just looks at him for a few seconds, both hands encased by Harry’s, then nods.

 

“Can we talk about something else now then?”

 

Harry chuckles. “Of course. What’s next on your list?” He prompts, sensing there’s another topic on the way. One that might require him to keep hold of Louis’ hands.

 

As predicted, Louis pauses and drops his eyes again, but he then sucks in a confident breath and looks Harry straight in the eye.

 

“I think we need to talk about us. Properly.”

 

Harry studies his face, rubs his thumbs across the backs of Louis’ hands and nods slowly. “Is this a good Properly or a bad Properly?”

 

Louis’ eyes flick across Harry’s features, like he’s trying to read them.

 

“That’s subjective.”

 

Harry grins. “Well, with how well you know me, then. Would I find it good or bad?”

 

Louis pauses again, chewing the inside of his cheek now, most likely because his hands are occupied.

 

“That’s still subjective. But if we go on my view, it’s a good Properly.”

 

“Good.” Harry smiles. “Hit me with it.”

 

“I just…” Louis hesitates, and Harry strokes his hands again. The bird outside is still going strong with its loop cycle. “I think we should go back a few steps. I feel like…” The pause is poorly timed, because it sends something cold down into Harry’s gut. He paints on a brave face though, and nods to encourage Louis to continue. “Everything that’s happened just recently… It feels like we’ve pressed fast-forward, or something, and we’re suddenly kissing and sleeping all cuddled up like it’s nothing. Like last week I wasn’t snapping at you about being too bossy.”

 

“I can be a bit bossy though.” Harry laughs, attempting to brighten Louis’ eyes a little.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

“That’s not the point.” Louis says quietly. “You said it yesterday morning. I have questions that I’d like to know the answers to before we make it known that we’re-… whatever this is.” He stops to clear his throat. Harry doesn’t notice he’s copied him and cleared his own too, until it’s too late, and Louis’ looking at him again, like he’s a book that he’s trying to read backwards and upside down all at once.

 

“You can ask me anything.” Harry says slowly, keeping his voice gentle and encouraging. He squeezes Louis’ hands for good measure. “We can properly talk about anything. Everything.” He continues. “Whenever you want to.”

 

Louis nods, eyes flicking to the closed curtains as if looking for some sort of escape of the view outside and realising there is none, just mauve cotton.

 

Harry wets his lips and presses them together, studying Louis as he sits, still sleep-rumpled, pillow creases on one side of his face, looking everything like a man filled wobbly with apprehension.

 

“It doesn’t have to be yet.” Harry adds, hoping it’ll ease Louis out of whatever place of worry he’s currently in that means he won’t look at Harry for longer than three seconds at a time.

 

Louis swallows again. “I want the answers though. I want this to be able to make sense in my own head.”

 

And for the first time, Harry sees Louis _truly_ vulnerable. His confusion and abundance of unanswered questions, floating around in his consciousness, are visible to Harry right in that second. He can see the man’s anxiety over the whole thing, can practically taste the muddle of emotions on his tongue.

 

“Well then,” Harry begins, “I’d better get comfy.” He smiles warmly as he brings both legs up onto the bed and crosses them beneath himself, opposite to where Louis sits against the cushioned headboard. “And we’d better start with the simple ones.”

 

Louis heaves in a slow, deep breath of air, then nods. “Okay.”

 

“Are you happy?” Harry starts, still holding Louis’ hands in his own.

 

Louis nods almost straight away. “Yes.”

 

“Okay. Good.” Harry nods back. “And, how are you feeling? About the change that’s happened in the past few days?”

 

Louis looks at him, eyes blue and deep and wonderful. “I like it.”

 

Something way too close to relief floods Harry’s entire being and he lets out a heavy breath through a smile. “Good. Me too, by the way.” He grins, and Louis actually smiles back, like he can’t help it. “But… Feeling okay about those changes doesn’t… It doesn’t mean you’ll be okay about it long-term, and obviously you don’t know how you’ll feel about something long-term until you’ve started to experience it but for now, in foresight… um, how do you feel? About that?” Harry winces, but smiles through it, aware that he just rambled around the point but never actually got to it. And that’s definitely not what Louis needs right now.

 

“Um…” Louis looks at his lap, then tucks a smile into the corner of his mouth and looks up again. “I think I get what you were saying there…” He meets Harry’s eyes and smiles a little bigger.

 

“Yeah?” Harry checks, voice airy and hopeful.

 

“Yes.” Louis replies. “And yes, I feel good about that too. In foresight.”

 

“Okay, good. Okay.” Harry breathes again. “So… we should probably focus on the more specific stuff now. The stuff that’s got you most confused.” He says, twisting Louis’ hands in his grip to lace both hands together at the fingers, lifting them up between them. “You mentioned that, um, you felt like we should go back? Go back a few steps-”

 

“-Yeah.” Louis replies before he’s finished, palms clammy against Harry’s. “Um, well… It’s stuff like the fact that all this time I’ve been telling Niall that I can’t stand you.” He says, getting it out fast in hopes it doesn’t sting as much, probably. It still stings.

 

“Oh.” Harry voices, though he doesn’t mean to.

 

“And… I mean, one of the biggest things for me to get my head around is when exactly that first became a lie.”

 

There’s silence then, as Harry realises what Louis just sort-of confessed, and his head snaps up to look at him. “You… So you can? Stand me?”

 

And Louis laughs, colourful and light. “I _can_ stand you, Harry. Tolerate, I think, is a better word.” He grins, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Then adds, “I can more than stand you, dipshit.”

 

Harry grins too, then. “Good. I can, uh, more than stand you too.” He confirms, nodding and squeezing Louis’ hands again, though admittedly more for himself this time. “And uh, that means…?”

 

“It means that I was honest yesterday when I said I liked the fact that those… things… were continuing.” He seems to word it carefully. “And that I want them to…continue…continuing.” He frowns and then giggles a little. “And… yeah.”

 

Harry smiles again, and nods once. “So… what other unanswered questions would you like help with?” He nudges.

 

“I guess… we just got here quite quickly? And I’ve no idea how things are gonna change, if they change at all, when we get back to London. What this means in classes, I mean, whether it’ll affect anything to do with the competition, I don’t know.” He sort-of deflates a little. “Things and _possibilities_ are just whirling around in my head and some of them are _entirely_ irrational but they’re _there_ and I feel like I can’t move forward with…” He pauses to swallow again. “…You, until they’re sorted and answered and put to rest, I guess.”

 

Harry shifts his weight on the bed, rubbing his thumbs down the lengths of Louis’ where their fingers are still locked.

 

“Okay, first of all, nothing is going to change when we get back to London. This isn’t just some weird thing that happened in Scotland and has to stay here when we leave. We’ve established that we both like what’s going on and that we’re happy with it, so I see no reason for us to have to change anything when we get home.” He assures the smaller man. “As for the ballet school, I imagine things will remain pretty much normal. I’ll still teach everything I have been teaching, you’ll still attend all your classes. I mean, you might get some comments from some peers if they notice anything, but I’m not saying we need to make out against the mirrors every Friday.” He stops to chuckle, Louis joining him. “I’m saying we just act however we want to act, and whatever happens, happens. It is what it is.” He shrugs, smiling at Louis’ rapidly calming features. “And as for the competition, I don’t see why the fact that we kiss and cuddle a bit will affect that. Unless we enter it into the Novice Ballet Duets section.” He laughs again and Louis kicks him from under the duvet. He grins and meets Louis’ eyes, bringing one set of their joined hands up to press Louis’ knuckles against his mouth. “I understand why there’s lots going around in your head.” He murmurs softly, lips moving against Louis’ skin. “There is in mine too, you’re not alone. But one thing I know for certain is that _this_ -” he waves their other set of joined hands in the air around them a little, prompting another giggle out of Louis, “- _you_ , make me feel happy. And no matter your first impressions of me or anything else you may have said to Niall,” he sets him a look then grins, “-it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve arrived at this place, we both like it, and we’re both happy. It doesn’t need a name yet, if that will just confuse things. We can simply call it Happy for now. We are Happy. Whatever.” He laughs. “I’m rambling like a fucking idiot now but you know the point I’m trying to get at. This is good. We’re good. And hopefully you’re a bit less confused about it all than when you first woke up?”

 

Louis studies Harry’s face for the fourth time, eyes flicking from eyes, down to cheeks, across to mouth, then back to burning eyes again, blue blurring into green. He lifts both their joined hands and tugs gently towards himself. “C’mere.”

 

Harry kneels up and rocks forward, leaning over Louis’ lap to reach him and accept his invitation – or rather, light demand – for a kiss.

 

When he pulls back, he looks down at the smaller man and leans close to softly run the tip of his nose down the bridge of Louis’, feeling Louis’ lashes against his cheeks when his eyes flutter closed beneath him.

 

“Come on,” Harry murmurs, “let’s go and get some breakfast.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“So, I'm thinking,” Harry begins at breakfast the next morning, scooping up a few blueberries and decorating the top of his porridge with them.

 

“Careful there,” Robin quips, earning a fluttery laugh from Anne and a grin from Louis. Gemma and Chris are meeting friends today and left before breakfast.

 

Harry meets Robin’s eyes and sends him an unimpressed look.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” he starts again, “I’m thinking of cooking a big meal for everyone tonight, as a last treat before Louis and I leave tomorrow evening?”

 

“Oh, that sounds…” Anne isn't looking up as she speaks, poking at her cereal bowl with her spoon but not committing to scooping any of it up. “That's a lovely idea, sweetheart.” She musters up, painting on a smile that Harry sees right through.

 

“Mum-”

 

“No, nope-” She interrupts him and meets his eyes. The corner of her mouth twitches downwards momentarily, before she’s breathing in deep and plastering on a beamy smile. “That sounds lovely.” She says again. “Lovely idea. What’ll you be making?”

 

Harry has half a mind to address what just nearly happened, but he takes his mother’s invitation for the conversation to continue instead, grateful for the lack of waterworks this time.

 

“I’m thinking something spicy. Maybe a curry. Or I could do a spicy fish pie?” Harry tilts his head from side to side as he thinks. “Everyone’s okay with heat, right?”

 

He glances around at the other three who are present, knowing Gemma is fine but unsure of Chris, and of Louis.

 

“Your mother and I enjoy spicy stuff, and you know Gem does. I’m pretty sure Chris is okay with it because he was eating a lot of the chicken wings at Winnie’s party the other day.” Robin explains, sprinkling sugar into his coffee. “Louis?”

 

Louis swallows his mouthful and nods, “Love spicy food. I’m definitely up for a bit of heat.” He nods, reaching for his tea to sip from it.

 

Harry grins. “Great! Well, I’ll see what the weather’s like and try and nip into town at some point this afternoon for the ingredients. Anyone got any meat preferences?”

 

Louis chokes on his tea.

 

Anne offers him a cloth napkin and Robin just watches, amused. “I don’t think so, Haz.” He answers Harry. “Just maybe nothing too small. Choking hazard.” He points at Louis and winks.

 

Harry snorts into his hand and doesn’t miss the daggers he gets from across the table.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Gemma and Chris arrive back just after lunch time with a box of cupcakes and a book for Harry.

 

“He’s just nipped out to get some bits for dinner tonight, actually Gemma, um…” Louis takes the book from her outstretched hand. “I can leave it in our room though?”

 

“Aw, how cute. ‘Our room’.” Gemma grins and nods and hands over the book and Louis doesn’t have time to say anything else before she’s disappeared off into the kitchen with the cupcakes, yelling something about her friend Samara and how _amazing_ she is at baking.

 

So Louis decides to run upstairs to put the book away, then text Harry to see how much longer he’s gonna be.

 

He sets the book on Harry’s bedside table. It’s odd, he realises, calling it _Harry’s_ bedside table. It’s just the bedside table on the side of the bed that Harry happens to have favoured. But for some reason, it’s like this is actually _their_ room now. Their bed. Their bedside tables. Louis frowns, realising how ridiculous it’s all becoming. He actually even laughs a little bit as he gets his phone out to send the text. Scotland definitely proved itself surprising, that’s for sure.

 

 

***

 

 

“Are you _trying_ to blow my bollocks off?!”

 

“Wow, never had commentary quite like that.” Harry raises his eyebrows as he continues chopping up jalapenos for the fish pie. “It’s four jalapenos, Louis. They’ll be spread throughout the potato with the fish, you’ll be fine.”

 

Louis doesn’t look convinced, and Harry laughs at the dissatisfied crinkle between his eyes.

 

“ _Four_ jalapenos.” He repeats. “And you can always pick them out. But I’ll be disappointed, because you _did_ say you liked heat.”

 

“I like heat, not a blazing inferno. Have you any idea how much jalapenos hurt on the way out? Couldn’t you have used chilli powder or something?”

 

“Thanks for that image.” Harry grimaces as he scoops up the chopped peppers and throws them in the pan to fry them off. “Look, if you get a sore bum, I’ll kiss it better. Happy?” He mocks Louis in a baby voice, sticking his bottom lip out and trying not to laugh at the resulting expression on Louis’ face.

 

He grins and bumps a knuckle under Louis’ chin before turning back to his cooking.

 

“Glad to see you two still getting on like a house on fire. Is bum kissing a new thing friends do now? Cos in that case I need to contact Samara again, she owes me.” Gemma’s voice startles both men, cutting through their playful moment like a blade. Louis freezes and Harry’s hand stills where he stirs the veg for the pie.

 

“Um…”

 

Gemma’s already laughing.

 

“Louis, don’t worry. I saw this coming, let’s be honest.” She shrugs and moves over to the glasses cabinet, pulling out enough wine glasses to set the table with as she talks. “Harry doesn’t bring friends home for week-long stays. We all knew _something_ was up. And that if it wasn’t _yet_ , it would be by the end.” She throws a wink their way, Harry doesn’t even need to turn around to see it, she’s reflected in the front of the glass cupboard by his head. “Hey, I’m just happy you’re happy. But a word of advice, no more bum talk in the parents’ house? At least, nowhere but the bedroom. I’ve been reprimanded for that and it ain’t pretty.” She chuckles. “You can thank me for the warning by giving me a bigger helping of fish pie.” She grins, then she’s gone, wine glasses clasped between her fingers like claws.

 

There’s silence for a moment, just the gentle hissing of the frying pan and the whirring of the fridge in the background.

 

“Well,” Louis sighs, “That’s one down.”

 

“I’m guessing more likely two. She never keeps anything from Chris.” Harry chuckles, sprinkling salt into the pan then lifting it off the hob to sauté.

 

Louis lets out a controlled breath and Harry immediately clocks it; watches the way his hand holds the edge of the countertop so hard his skin turns white, then how he lets go, feigns content by tapping his fingertips against the surface instead. But Harry can see how bitten down his fingernails are.

 

He sets the pan down and turns off the hob, then doesn’t hesitate for a second before wrapping Louis up in his arms and breathing into his hair.

 

He doesn’t say anything, just lets the feel of his arms around the smaller man hopefully calm him a little. He doesn’t know what it is that makes the thought of telling his family so worrying to Louis, why he’s so hesitant and reluctant. But he understands that it could be because it’s very early, because things have happened in such a short space of time, because they’re in no real sense of normality at the moment, what with staying away from both their homes and all of Louis’ comforts. It could be any or all of those things; it could be none. But what matters is that there’s _something_. Something is causing Louis to hold this thing like a weight on his back, a tremor in his chest. Harry can see it whenever the subject is so much as hinted at, like just now with Gemma. And he doesn’t like it.

 

“You know I’ll never force you to do it, don’t you?” Harry murmurs quietly. “It’s not something that needs a deadline, Lou. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible, all the time.” He adds, moving to stroke one hand up and down the small of Louis’ back.

 

Louis pulls back, holding Harry close at half an arm’s length, and smiles.

 

“I’m okay. It’s just… fast.” He admits. “I’m fine, though. I want them to know, I just. I want to know myself first, you know? Know more about you, know more about us as a two rather than two ‘one’s. Does that make sense?” He laughs, scratching absently as the back of his neck.

 

“Perfect sense.” Harry nods, leaning forward to brush their noses together. “We can leave it for as long as you want. I can have a word with Gemma, and she’ll understand. There isn’t much she doesn’t these days. Especially about me.” He smiles warmly.

 

Louis returns it, squeezes Harry’s arm, then stretches up the rest of the distance to kiss him, moving his hand to the back of Harry’s neck and holding him there.

 

“Can I help with dinner?” He asks. “I’m shit at cooking but I can prep plates and throw away any rubbish?”

 

Harry chuckles and nods. “Alright then, Sous-Chef. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

 

“Can I be of any assistance, love?” Anne suddenly appears, marching into the kitchen with a beaming grin. “Need the potatoes mashing or…? I can prepare the prawns if you like? Did you buy them still in their shells-?”

 

“Mum, bloody hell.” Harry cuts her off, holding an arm out to stop her. “I’m fine. Lou is gonna be my second pair of hands, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need a third. Honestly, go and relax.”

 

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, Harry. But I can always do us up some salad? There’s a few cherry tomatoes that need eating up, why don’t I-”

 

“Mum!” Harry covers his frustration with a light laugh. “I’m fine, honestly. Just go and relax, that was the whole point of me doing this.”

 

“Really? I can’t just-?”

 

“Mum, get out of my bloody kitchen or I swear to god I’ll find a new home for this wooden spatula.” Harry points it at her. “Go.”

 

Anne looks between them both, then mutters, “I think you’ll find it’s _my_ kitchen you’re standing in, young man. Who pays the mortgage?”

 

“Fine.” Harry replies. “Mother, kindly remove yourself from _your_ kitchen.”

 

She hesitates, but eventually gives in. And the minute she’s gone, Louis slaps a hand over his mouth to stop his burst of laughter from being too loud.

 

He gets lightly whacked on the arm with a wooden spatula.    

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

**Yo, ya bastard. Are you ignoring me? N**

**_Sorry, Niall. It’s been an interesting few days. I seriously need to update you. On a lot._ **

**You bloody went and did it, didn’t you? Hah! I knew ya would, Tommo. I could see it in your eyes, behind all that fake hatred. Spare me all the details and buy me a pint or two and I’ll pretend like you’re not a stupid twat. ;) Love ya! N**

“Everything okay?” Harry holds a glass of wine out to Louis and meets his eyes warmly.

 

“Yeah, just Niall being a stupid twat. Need any help with dishing up?” Louis takes the glass. “Thanks.”

 

“Uh, no, Mum insisted she dished up. She was probably sat in here the whole time tearing her hair out.” He laughs. “I just decided to let her.” He shrugs. “Besides someone needed to bring your wine to you. Did you find some signal at last?”

 

Louis looks at his phone and quickly closes it.

 

“Uh, yeah. I had a text from Niall and a text from EE telling me about some special airtime offer that I don’t care about.” He sips his wine. “Mm, this is good. I needed this.”

 

Harry chuckles and squeezes at his bicep, understanding.

 

“God, I hope this dinner goes well.” He sighs, sipping from his own glass and looking out the living room window onto the garden.

 

“It will, don’t be silly.” Louis elbows him lightly. “I personally can’t wait to get ring sting from this Spicy Fish Pie of yours.” He throws Harry a whopping grin, then disappears towards the dining room.

 

Harry laughs into his wine glass, looking out the window as the sky turns from inky blue to grey, and thinking about Louis. As another mouthful of wine gently burns its way down his throat, he sends a silent prayer that things don’t get complicated once they arrive back to normality. Scotland has been great, but he’d hate it if he had to settle for Scotland to have been unique. He wants this to become the norm, not a mother who’s pressing him for grandkids and a ballet school where he’s desperately smitten with one of his best students, only to never be able to kiss him again.

 

 _I love_ _and value every moment I get to spend with you_.

 

The wine is already going to his head.


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return To London. Louis and Harry are back, and the competition is five days away. As predicted, emotions run high. But most of them are good emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So this officially marks my return to ao3. Phew. I won't go into great detail about my absence here, because it'll just be too much of a paragraph to read before getting to the bit you're actually here for. But I will say that I sincerely and wholeheartedly apologise for my year-long disappearance. If you wish to message me about it, I will gladly give you the explanation I feel you deserve. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy coming back to this story. I love these guys with all my heart. 
> 
> Enjoy this one! The next two chapters are titled "The Competition Parts 1 & 2"... Exciting!

It's raining as they approach London again. Which probably counts as a metaphor for something, but Louis is too knackered to think on it any further than that. His eyesight blurs as the gentle roar of the road beneath them becomes a lull, a soothing soundtrack of rain patting the windows, and the rhythmic squeak of Harry’s windscreen wipers against the wet glass. _Why does the journey home always feel quicker?_

Their final day in Scotland was spent inside. They'd all settled in the conservatory for the day, playing board games and finishing off the last of the food left over from the party. And when it came to late evening, Harry and Louis left with only a few tears from Anne, though she claimed they were happy ones at seeing Harry so pleased with where he is and what he's doing. It was the cookie-cutter scene of Proud Mum Sending Son Off To Continue Doing Whatever It Is She’s Proud Of. Louis almost found it difficult to watch, the whole thing reminding him that he really doesn’t visit his own family half as much as he should. 

They’re off of the motorway now, the roar of the road slightly less harsh to the ear, and Harry switches the radio on. 

“Sorry, Lou.” He whispers, fiddling with the volume button to keep it at a gentle low. “Need it to keep myself awake.” He adds, and secures the sincerity of his apology by softly squeezing at Louis’ knee. Louis isn’t awake enough to respond, really. He thinks he manages a quiet, “it’s okay”, but in reality it just comes out as a murmur.

By the time they’re pulling up outside Harry’s place, Louis is almost nothing but a nodding head of heavy blinking. He slides out of the car, using as fewer muscles as possible, and doesn’t realise where they are until he’s being told to get in a lift. And wait, there aren’t any lifts up to his flat… 

“Where are we?” He mumbles, pushing the heel of one hand into his right eye and yawning. “I look a state.”

Harry chuckles softly as the lift stops and he shuffles through the doors with both suitcases. 

“We’re home, Lou. Well, at mine. The Queen isn’t due to come round until _next_ weekend, don’t worry.”

Louis just barely notices the joke in there but he’s too tired to give it much attention. He just smacks his lips and follows Harry out of the lift. 

Leaning himself up against the wall while Harry sorts his keys out, he yawns again and then frowns. 

“I can’t stay here.”

Harry frowns too, but doesn’t look up from his keys.

“Hmm? Why not?” 

“S’your house.”

The taller man chuckles and corrects him - “Flat.” - as he pushes the key in the lock, turns it until it clicks then knees the door open. “And you’re perfectly welcome to stay here, numpty. Couldn’t exactly take you to _your_ flat could I?”

Louis’ frown deepens, lips pouting outwards.

“Why not?”

Harry chuckles again, shoving the suitcases through the door then holding it open for Louis to shuffle through. He doesn’t though, and Harry rolls his eyes, trying not to laugh. 

“Because for me to take you home I’d need to know where ‘ _home’_ is.” He smiles. 

“Oh.” Louis frowns. “Um… I live near that Santander on the corner bit, sort of near… um…” He trails off, then goes for a different description, unable to think of what he’s trying to say. “There’s a bus stop, sort of half way down-” 

“ _Louis_ , Louis, it’s fine.” Harry laughs lightly, cutting him off. “Just go inside. I’ll grab the last bag from the car.”

“I can’t stay here.” Louis repeats, stopping Harry on his way back to the lift. 

This time, Harry frowns properly. 

“What do you mean? Why can’t you?”

Louis’ sleepy brain can’t come up with anything, and all he can think is that a few yards away, in the direction of his left and the other side of a wall or so, there is a bed. An _empty_ bed. A clean, neatly-made (most probably, this is Harry), empty bed. And his brain has given up on everything that doesn’t involve that bed and his sleeping body. 

“I…” 

Harry laughs again. 

“Stop trying to be polite and go and get yourself tucked up.” He turns towards the lift, then changes his mind and jogs over to the stairs. “I’ll be back in five.”

Before Louis can attempt another excuse, Harry’s head is bobbing down, down, down and then disappears; so he just huffs and slopes inside Harry’s flat. 

 

***

 

“V’got a nice flat.”

 Harry smiles to himself, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. “Thank you.”

 Louis is in bed, on his side (or rather, the side that isn’t Harry’s), one arm folded under his head, and is most likely going to fall asleep any second. Harry is just waiting for when his next sentence goes unanswered.

“I can drop you home whatever time you like tomorrow, by the way.” Harry calls through. “Just say the word and I’m your Uber.”

Louis hums.

“Hmm. How much will it cost?”

Harry smiles, still waiting to get a gap in which to brush his teeth.

“For you, Tomlinson… consider it only a small debt.”

“Thank you.” Louis’ too sleepy to argue or come back with anything remotely witty like he’d usually try to do. He just lays his head back down again and snuggles his face closer to the pillow.

Harry smiles, and with a fond shake of his head, shoves his toothbrush in his mouth, turning away towards the mirror.

 

***

 

“I’ll see you on Wednesday then.”

“Not Monday?” Louis frowns, confused. 

It's the next morning, and they’re now outside Louis’ flat, Harry leaning against the doorframe as he says goodbye.

He shakes his head in answer to Louis’ question, playing with a keyring on his car keys.

“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment that couldn’t be rescheduled. I told Madam Charee and she’s fine about it. She’s just happy it’s not eating into production rehearsals.” He explains, “I’m sure she’d be telling me differently if my appointment was on Friday.” He chuckles, but Louis is still frowning. So then Harry frowns too. “What?”

“Nothing, um… no, it’s fine.”

“Louis.”

“What? It’s nothing!” He laughs, though it’s fake, and judging by Harry’s raised eyebrow, the other man can tell.

“I can tell when you’re lying.” Harry challenges, as if on cue, and folds his arms. His jumper gapes a little at the neck.

Louis looks at him for a long moment, narrowing his eyes.

“No you can’t.”

Harry’s eyebrow shoots up again, challenging. 

“Can’t I?” 

And yeah, it’s probably proof. Because…

“I just… It’s stupid but- You’re…” Louis pauses for a second. “Everything’s alright, right? With you, I mean. You’re okay?”

Harry’s brow flickers and then he’s rolling his eyes and smiling. It quirks his mouth a little lopsidedly and Louis finds it way too attractive all of a sudden.

“I’m fine, Lou.” Harry assures him. “It’s just a blood test. But they want to do a full blood count, which means all the different vials – _lucky me_.” He chuckles. “To be totally honest with you, I didn’t actually ask them to move the appointment. I knew they’d only offer me a different day of the week and then I’d risk missing more important rehearsals.” He looks at him, eyes soft. “Like yours.” He smiles again. “Talking of which… How’re you feeling about it?”

Louis sucks in a breath. “Okay, I suppose.” He nods. “Ready.” He adds, meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry beams. “Good. I’m glad. Go out there and show them how amazing I am at teaching ballet.”

Louis scoffs. “Oh, so _there’s_ your real motive. I get it now.” He crosses his arms.

Harry presses, lips curving up crookedly, trying not to laugh. “You know I’m only-” 

“Nope!” Louis cuts him off, raising both eyebrows and closing his eyes.

Harry chuckles.  “But L-”

“Nope!” Louis shakes his head sharply. Opening his eyes, his hands come up to his hips and Harry’s mouth does something like he’s squashing his laughter between his lips. Then Louis adds, “In fact, get off my property.”

Harry glances down at the toes of his shoes, just barely peeking over the bottom of Louis’ doorway. His eyes flick up again, as if to ask ‘really?’ but is only met with eyebrows raising higher, and a nod.

He does laugh then – Harry; throws his head back and barks out proper laughter, knees bending a little. Then he lifts both hands up and takes a full step backwards, folds his arms behind his back and cocks his head to one side.

“Better?”

Louis looks Harry up and down, then nods again, one hand on the door now. “Yes. Goodbye.”

The door is stopped just as it’s about to fully close. Louis looks down to see a familiar pointed boot in its way.

He pulls the door open again.

“Can I help you?”

“Well, that depends. Could I possibly bother you for a kiss goodbye, maybe? Seeing as I won’t see you now until Wednesday?” The man at his door attempts, hands still folded innocently at his back, eyes wide and softly pleading.

This sort of talk still causes something in Louis’ stomach to do something strange. He can’t describe it very well, but his smile grows the longer Harry looks at him. He gives up the act with a roll of his eyes and steps forward with a smiling sigh, lifts both hands to Harry’s face and tilts his head up to kiss him firmly on the lips. Yet again, it ends when they both start smiling into each other’s mouths.

Hopeless.

 

***

 

Louis has to admit it. Monday’s technical class _does_ feel strange without Harry there. And he’s pretty sure that it’s not actually _just_ him that feels that way. There’s definitely an odd atmosphere hanging in the studio. It’s a dark morning too, which Louis can only see as something either very well-timed, or something laughably poetic.

The students greet each other after their week off with loud, excited voices. But once the class actually begins, with Madam Charee returning to their original class content, strong technicality focus - something they had all almost forgotten about after so long with Harry’s stamina maintenance - the air in Studio 1 definitely feels different.

Harry must’ve earned himself more praises with the class than Louis had realised. It seems everyone misses his presence today.

Afterwards, they’re all winding down in the changing rooms and the air still feels alive with something not-quite-right, when Perrie sighs and speaks up.

“Okay, I’ll be the first one to say it, because I _know_ I’m not the only one _thinking_ it.” She begins, then, “I bloody miss Harry.” She laughs at herself afterwards, shaking her head as she pulls her dance bag out of her locker and puts it down on the bench behind her.

Her comment is met with multiple murmurs of agreement and a few nods.

“It’s definitely strange going back to crony old Charee.” Kevin laughs, shoving his feet into trainers.

Jade tuts at him but smiles a little, obviously agreeing on some level.

Louis sighs too, and begins tidying up his locker, running his free hand through his messy fringe. 

“How was your week off, Lou?” Perrie comes up beside him, leaning against the end of the row of lockers. She’s wearing eyeshadow, a pale purple colour that _did_ match her leotard when she was wearing it, and it shimmers at the outer corners of her eyes. It compliments her. 

“It was good, yeah. Still couldn’t help rehearsing though.” He chuckles, doing up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. It’s quite nerve-wracking, talking to Perrie now. He knows damn well how she’s likely to react when she finds out what he and Harry got up to over the past week. Currently, she doesn’t even know they spent the mid-term week off _together_ , let alone what went on. And for some reason, Louis is quite nervous just talking to her now, innocently. She knows nothing right now but he’s _still_ nervous. _Fucking hell._

“I was the same.” Perrie laughs, “Had a bit of a practice over at my grandparents’ place when we visited. They have a basement space they don’t use so I took it over for a few hours.” She rattles on, “To be honest though, I mainly did it so that I’d still be able to keep up today after a whole week off. I was fully expecting to be facing another one of Harry’s work-outs, yet the bastard isn’t even here!” She laughs. “All that preparation for nothing. It’s like when I used to do my homework at the last minute, all in a panic, and then the teacher never bothering to take it in!” She laughs more. 

Louis laughs too, closing his locker and turning the key. He grabs his phone from his bag and switches it on, idly checking Facebook as he replies to her. 

“Harry’ll be back on Friday. I’m sure he’ll find a way to work something stamina-related into the day somewhere.” He scoffs, smiling. “ _Especially_ after missing it today, and knowing we’ve all had a week off.” He shakes his head, chuckling.

“Oh, okay. That’s good. Where is he today then?” Perrie folds her arms and adjusts how she’s leaning against the lockers. “Is he ill?”

“No, he’s just gone for a blood test. Couldn’t reschedule it.” Louis replies, then nearly drops his phone when he realises how clever Perrie has just been. When he looks up, she’s smirking. _Shit_.

“You and I need to do lunch soon, I think.” She sets him a knowing look. “Actually, come with me on a walk with Hatchi tomorrow?” She asks, “We can do lunch afterwards. And you…” She pokes him in the chest, smiling wide. “Can bring me up to date.” She squeezes his upper arm excitedly, then with a warm smile, she ducks past him, grabbing her bag and leaving the changing room.

And, okay. It’s not quite what Louis was expecting. But he’s definitely not complaining. She’s actually behaving quite maturely about it, which, given their usual nature of friendship – there was once an incident involving Louis running around the studio with a thong on his head (he’d found it sticking out of Perrie’s dance bag, she had a date that night) – surprises him. Is she finally growing up? Fuck, are they finally behaving like _adults_?

Louis almost laughs to himself. Oh no. God forbid the day he and Perrie stop mocking each other. Because that would mean something was a big deal indeed.

 

***

 

_[12:53] How did it go?_

 

**_[12:58] Louis, it was only a blood test. I’m fine, don’t worry._ **

 

_[13:02] Alright, alright ! Forgive me for asking after your health. I’ll make sure not to care in future !!_

 

**_[13:05] How was class with Madam Charee?_ **

 

_[13:08] Amazing. In fact, we don’t really need you anymore. To be honest, I wouldn’t bother coming back._

 

**_[13:11] Rude._ **

 

_[13:13] *Brutally honest._

 

**_[13:15] Shut up. ;) What’re you up to for the rest of the day?_ **

 

_[13:18] Working. :(_

 

**_[13:20] Hang on, I’ve just realised something… How come I don’t know where you work?_ **

 

_[13:21] Because you clearly don’t care enough to have ever ASKED._

 

**_[13:23] Wow, okay. I’m sorry for whatever it is I’ve done. Honestly, what is this? Bully Harry Day?_ **

****

_[13:25] You abandoned me!_

_[13:25] *Us._

_[13:26] We all missed you today. Even Perrie said as such while we were all getting changed. She got lots of agreement from the others._

****

**_[13:28] Honestly, I am sorry I had to miss today’s class. Especially for a blood test, of all things… It could have at least been something a bit more exciting! Not the biggest fan of needles, as it goes. Haven’t had a very fun morning!_ **

****

_[13:29] Are you alright? Lottie gets funny with needles, she faints and stuff. Are you okay now?_

**_[13:31] I’m fine, Lou. Despite the amount of blood they took, I actually feel perfectly fine. It was just at the time, I saw the needle and felt a bit funny. Which is odd, because I thought I was alright with needles. Maybe it’s because I knew they’d be taking a lot, I don’t know. But I’m fine, I promise._ **

_[13:33] Okay. I’m working until 5pm, but you can text me whenever. If you need to. I’ll reply when I can._

**_[13:35] Ok. Thanks, Lou. x_ **

_[13:37] And I work at the Vans shop inside Kings Shopping Centre. It’s not that exciting but seeing as you were saying you didn’t know… x_

**_[13:39] Oh! I can see how a Vans job would suit you, actually. :) x_ **

“Louis William Tomlinson, your lunch break ended ten minutes ago.”

Louis rolls his eyes and shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Sorry, Sean.”

“I only gave you a lunch break today to be polite. A twelve-to-five shift doesn’t usually have one. Be grateful that I take pity in the fact you have an overly-active hobby.” Sean begins pottering about at the kitchen counter of their staff room. It’s only a small corner of the cupboard-like space, complete with broken microwave, temperamental fridge, and a rickety sink. Louis’s just grateful the kettle always works. 

“Yeah, sorry, Sean. Just had to text my ballet teacher about something, he missed class today and was asking about how it went-”

“Louis. I respect that you care a lot about your dancing. But I really don’t. I just care that you’re here on time, and do your job properly.” Sean doesn’t even turn around from where he’s pouring water into his Cuppa Soup. “Now can you cover the tills please? Niall is restocking the sales shelf.”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” Louis nods, and heads out back onto the shop floor. He figures it’s best just to get on with his job after a week’s holiday, actually.

 

***

 

The clock behind the counter reads 4:54pm when Niall bounces up to Louis behind the tills.

Louis has been on them all day, dealing with the steady trickle of customers, while Niall has been busy, in and out of the stock cupboard. Sean had taken root in his office after his own lunch break had ended, and Louis was actually quite glad not to be bothered by him again for the rest of the day. Plus, he’d been able to exchange a few texts with Harry without being reprimanded, so.  

“How’s it going, Tommo?”

“Ugh, Niall. Kill me.” Louis braces one arm against the counter and rocks back on his heels, bending to rest his forehead against it. “There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“So, just let me catch up here…” Niall reaches under the counter for the pack of chewing gum he keeps there, and shoves some into his mouth before replacing it. “You’re all conflicted and emotional because you fucked your dance teacher, right?”

Louis’ head snaps up to gape at the blonde man, who simply shrugs and carries on chewing his gum like it’s five sizes bigger than it actually is.

“We didn’t fuck.” Louis gets out through gritted teeth. “We just… Stuff happened.”

“Ohhhh, so you _almost_ fu-”

“ _No_ , Niall! I mean stuff as in… _talking_. I don’t know. Last week was…” Louis pushes a hand through his hair. “Last week was like… a week taken out of someone _else’s_ life, just plonked right into the middle of mine. It was… like, some sort of out of body experience. I feel like I was watching myself the whole time, doing these things and saying things… But they _were_ things I would’ve said. Like, I don’t _regret_ anything…I just… I… I can’t even wrap my head around it. I… _Ugh_.” Louis lets out an almighty sigh. After a few seconds of just trying to think, he eventually comes up with a quiet, “I don’t know.” 

“Mate.” Niall says, after a few seconds. His chewing as grown quieter, thank fuck. Because Louis can’t take being irritated by little things right now. Not on top of this, not on top of this, Harry, and the competition at the weekend and- … oh fuck. The competition. _The competition is literally at the weekend._

“Oh, fucking _hell_ …” Louis whines, though it’s also sort of a groan, and he brings both hands up to his face.

“Mate.” Niall tries again. “Just breathe.” He says, rubbing at the top of Louis’ back, between his shoulder blades.   

“Niall. I don’t even know what’s going on enough to make sense of it in my own head, let alone explain it all to you.” He sighs. “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s okay, mate.” Niall dismisses it. “Honestly, I can crack a few jokes to help make you feel better, but that’s about it when it comes to listening to someone’s problems.” He sighs. “You need someone who can sort of, I don’t know, _know_ what you mean without you having to say it? Yeah?” 

Louis slowly drops his hands from his face.

“I know who might be able to do that, actually.”

 

***

 

Hatchi trots along on the end of his lead so happily, tail wagging wildly and mane bouncing around his head – because honestly he’s about two chromosomes away from actually being a miniature lion – that Louis wishes a little bit that he’d been born a dog instead of a human. Dogs seem to have no problems. And humans seem to have all the problems. 

“So, you stayed at his parents’ place for the week?” Perrie summarises. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail today; big shades rest on her face and she’s dressed in relaxed joggers and a tank. Louis thinks that they must’ve been siblings in another life or something. He shoves his hands into the deep pockets of his own joggers as they walk, making their way along the edge of the Thames. London’s mid-morning sunlight glints off the water and the Southbank is alive with colour and music and smells from the many restaurants and food stands they’re strolling past.

“Yeah, basically.” Louis confirms. So far, they’ve only really covered the fact that, yes, just as Perrie had been suspecting all this time, he and Harry get on well. She’d started the conversation by asking him how the other night had gone after she’d left them at the bar together. Louis had explained that he’d gotten quite – very – drunk, and that upon Harry asking him to go to Scotland with him for mid-term break, he’d agreed. Perrie had cooed a little at that, which Louis had rolled his eyes at.

They approach a young couple coming the other way with a Dachshund, and Hatchi makes a beeline for the other dog, eager to make a new friend.

“And?” Perrie continues, watching Hatchi to make sure the two dogs get along.

Louis watches the Dachshund’s tail wag faster at Hatchi’s attention. See? Dogs are _so_ much better at socialisation too. Nothing’s complicated.

“And it was really nice.” Louis manages with a relaxed shrug. The young couple nod politely in thanks as they begin to move away, laughing when the dogs seem reluctant to part.

“Good.” Perrie nods to herself. “Just nice?”

“His parents are wonderful, they made me feel so at home. And his sister too, she’s got such a good sense of humour. We got on really well.” Louis says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His palms inside his pockets begin to sweat. “Bascially, Pez. I’m just… Harry is…”

Perrie stops walking, watching Louis for a second, then she smiles and nods towards an empty bench that faces out to the river. They both sit, and she keeps Hatchi occupied with a chew as he settles at her feet.

 _Perrie’s a good friend_ , Louis thinks. _She just knows when silence is better than forcing yourself to talk._

After a good five minutes of staring at the way the water ripples and the light sparkles off of it, Louis lets out a sigh.

“Harry is our dance teacher.”

“Yep.” Perrie nods, watching the water too.

“He’s quite a few years younger than us, yet somehow he makes it feel like he’s had more life experience than all of us put together.” He says next.

“Yep.” Perrie chuckles at that. “Definitely.” 

"He's a good person. Kind-hearted.” Louis says next. 

“Yep. Well… I mean, from what I’ve _seen_ , I can probably agree with you.” Perrie nods.

Louis lets out a breath. With a small shrug, he realises the simplest fact of the whole situation.

“I like him.”

Perrie’s nodding, eyes hidden behind her shades, she’s now watching Louis as he looks out at the river. 

“So do I.” She agrees. “Believe it or not, I think he’s exactly what our group has needed right from the beginning.”

“Mmm.” Louis nods.

“And…” Perrie continues, shifting a bit to face Louis. He turns his head to look at her. “I can understand why last week might’ve made you anxious about going back to classes. I _get_ why you’re like this today. You’ve come back and things aren’t going back to how they were before the week off, and… you’re anxious.” She explains, somehow able to put into words exactly how he’s feeling, all the while giving off a huge sense of ‘ _this is okay_ ’, which Louis finds a tremendous amount of comfort in, he won’t lie to himself.

“I get it, completely.” She continues. “Just, you know, the studio, and the rest of us being around. I can’t imagine trying to figure out the possible beginnings of something between myself and another person when I’ve got about 20 pairs of eyes on us.” She chuckles. Hatchi is still calm at her feet, and she lets go of his lead with one hand to push her glasses up onto her head, meeting Louis’ eyes properly. “If you were worried about us giving you shit, Lou, then to be honest… you know us well.” She grins. “But I’d never want you to feel _uncomfortable_ or like, restricted, because of what other people might say or think.” Perrie continues, tilting her head to one side to read his reaction, as if she’s silently asking if that’s already how he feels.

Louis realises she might not only be talking about him and Harry now.

“I know I tease you a lot. But it’s because we’re such good mates. I know you can take a bit of pissing about, because that’s just how we are. And believe me, mister, that ain’t about to stop, either.” She gives him a look. “I don’t change for anybody.” She adds, putting on a silly voice, and this causes Louis to join in with her subsequent laughter. “But I will always want you to feel good about yourself.” She lifts her free hand to move a strand of hair out of Louis’ eyes, then shoves his shoulder gently. “You’re like… my twin, sometimes.” She grins. “Basically, without making us both want to vomit…” She shifts a little. “You and Harry are none of my business, really. Or anyone’s. Apart from your own.” She meets his eyes. “Yes, I’m gonna give you shit about it when you go all heart-eyes – because I now believe one-hundred-percent that that’s going to start happening. But that’s because you’re my best mate. Giving you shit about stuff is just part of my package deal.” She shrugs, then laughs. After the laughter dies, she holds his eyes for a few more seconds before she continues. “Just… please try not to worry about being _judged_. That’s what I’m getting at.” She takes his hand and squeezes it. “I’d never judge you, Lou. Not like that.”

A boat glides along the river in front of them, blocking the sun for a few seconds. In the short period of shade, Louis can read how sincere Perrie’s words are. Her eyes are so honest. He actually starts to feel a bit guilty about how much he was worried before. He didn’t give her enough credit.

“C’mon, let’s get some grub.” She elbows him and stands, making sure Hatchi has the dog chew securely in his mouth so they can set off. “Preferably somewhere that serves wine before midday.” She throws him a wink. 

Louis smiles, and stands too, and as they start walking towards the nearest restaurant, he slings an arm around Perrie’s waist to tug her close so he can press a kiss to her head. 

“Couldn’t ask for a better twin, could I, really?” He smiles.

“Exactly!” Perrie agrees, grinning. She pulls her shades back onto her eyes. “And that’s why I expect to be your maid of honour, too, by the way.”

Louis lets out a loud laugh. Well, she did say she was still gonna piss about, he supposes.

He’s glad, actually.

 

***

 

Next thing Louis knows, it’s Wednesday, and his final private rehearsal before the competition at the weekend. 

He’s nervous. Very nervous. And he thinks Harry knows, because he thinks he’s using this lesson as some form of distraction tactic. Distractic. Or whatever. Needless to say, Harry is putting him through his paces. 

He’s done his stretches, a warm-up, then a routine for his stamina – this earned Harry a significant death glare – and now Harry is making him go through the routine repeatedly, back-to-back, only letting him stop to swig water.

Sweat is running from Louis’ hairline, he’s pretty sure the hairs at the top of his neck are starting to curl from it, and he’s grateful that he shoved a sweatband into his bag all those months ago when they started getting warmer weather. Like, literally June. Which was basically five months ago. He doesn’t clean out his dance bag much. Which today, he’s also grateful for.

He slides the sweatband onto his head and adjusts it to fit comfortably around his ears. His chest is heaving, sweat dampening a triangle at the small of his back and the centre of his chest. His legs are burning, thighs and calves especially, and he’s now chugging from his fourth bottle of water since the lesson started.

He’s just finished another run-through of the routine – he’s honestly lost count of how many times he’s done it now – and Harry is _finally_ giving him a breather. 

“I might work you harder every time we rehearse.” Harry muses from where he’s messing about at the barre, doing little exercises in open and closed fourth position. There’s a certain look in his eye. “You look good all sweaty.”

Louis gasps in a bigger breath so he can speak, pushing down whatever is starting to coil in his belly.

“I’m sure there’re _less_ cruel ways of getting me sweaty that _don’t_ include making me do this routine over and over again. Can we go with that next time you want to gawk at me?”

Harry just meets Louis’ eyes, a look of almost-impress on his face.

“What?” Louis frowns, one arm on his hip as he takes another mouthful of water. 

Harry chuckles. 

“Nothing. Are you ready to go again?”

“Can I hit you?” Louis quips back straight away.

Harry just laughs.

“Oh, by the way…” Louis begins, then takes another swig of water.

“Mm?”

Louis swallows before continuing.

“You’d better hurry up and propose to me.” He waves a finger back and forth between them, then moves it to catch some sweat that’s rolling down his neck. Ew.

“I’m sorry?”

“Perrie wants to be head bridesmaid. 

Harry’s features relax.

“You spoke to her?”

Louis nods.

“She was really good. Funnily enough she took it all quite maturely.” He shrugs. “I shouldn’t have doubted her really.”

Harry beams, then moves closer to where Louis is standing – dripping – and tips his chin up to kiss him. He must taste like sweat, and Louis inwardly praises Harry for not pulling away in disgust.

“I’m not saying this means I’m about to start shagging you in class or anything…” Harry begins, and Louis chokes on another mouthful of water. “But,” Harry chuckles, making sure Louis’ alright before continuing, “I’m very happy this means you don’t feel so scrutinised like you did. I know how worried you were about rumours and everything.” 

“Yeah.” Louis replies, ignoring the shagging comment. Because _not right now_. “To be honest, I’m sure I’m still gonna get shit from somebody over the fact that you’re our teacher.”

“If anyone should be getting shit from anybody, it’s probably me. They’ll start thinking you’re my favourite.”

Louis gasps, mouth dropping open.

“I’m _not_ your favourite?”

Harry laughs.

“Oh, shut up and go again. If you do it well enough I might let you go home early.” He winks.

“Bastard! I’ve been doing it well enough all lesson!”

Louis’ argument is drowned out by more of Harry’s laughter, then he’s waving the music remote in the air as a warning, so Louis’ rushes to get into his starting position. 

Every chance he gets; he throws a glare Harry’s way. 

It’s only ever met with a wink and a smirk.

 

***

 

“Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!” Harry sing-songs as soon as he bursts through the doors on Friday. 

He’s met with quite a few cheers. A couple of people applaud, and Perrie and Jade literally high-five each other.

Harry can’t help grinning.

“Oh, I’ve missed you lovely lot!” He exclaims, putting his bag down and shrugging off his jacket.

His eyes find Louis across the studio, he’s stood sideways at the _barre_ , smiling along with everyone’s excitement, but his eyes are on Harry. Harry throws him a wink and his smile curls further. 

“Look what they did to me.” Harry says to the few dancers who are nearer to him. He lifts his left arm out to the side, the sleeve of his t-shirt tight around his bicep, and points to a tiny little red dot on the inside of his elbow, pushing out his bottom lip in an over-exaggerated pout. 

“Right! Swan Lake!” He then claps his hands, addressing the entire room now that the noise has died down a bit. “Let’s get this ball rolling properly! We’ve all had a week off to recharge and refresh and re… uh… something else.” He chuckles, and the students laugh with him. “Clearly I need another one!” He adds, earning more laughter. He glances at Louis again whose eyes are almost sparkling. The smaller man looks relaxed and happy, and Harry’s mood spikes up another level. “So…” He continues, strolling across the studio in front of them. “I hope you all remember the routine we started before the break. I’ve been working on another routine with Louis and Zayn in their duet class. So we’ll run the first one a few times, and then I’ll get to teaching you the choreography for the new one. Sound like a plan?” He asks the room.

The room pauses for a second, where Harry looks around with his eyebrows raised, waiting for a reply.

Then Zayn starts nodding, Jade let’s out a whoop, and Louis breaks into laughter.

“Yes, Teach!” Perrie grins.

“Excellent!” Harry claps again. “Places then! From the top!”

 

***

 

“-and seeing as he’s representing us as a whole school, I’d like to see as many of you there as possible, please.”

Harry’s given them a break after running the first routine a few times. They’re all sitting against the mirrors, most of them nursing bottles of water, and Harry is talking about tomorrow’s competition. _The_ competition. As in the National Classical Dance Competition in association with the I.D.T.A. The competition Louis is competing in. _Tomorrow_.

“As usual, it’s being held at the Olympia. Louis is competing in the section at 3:30pm. And even though this is in the afternoon, it still means I am cancelling your duet class with him, Zayn. I want Louis to be able to relax before his performance, as I’m sure you do too.”

“Of course, Monsieur Styles. I won’t be able to make that class anyway, as I’ll already be there with my banner and balloons.” He flashes Louis a grin and Louis actually blushes a bit. Zayn’s planning on supporting him? He doesn’t have to do that.

“Thanks, Zayn.” Louis returns the other lad’s smile. 

“Good! I’m glad you’ll be there, Zayn. Anyone else already planning on coming tomorrow?” Harry throws the question out to the rest of the class. Three hands shoot up. Perrie’s, Jade’s and Kevin’s. Louis feels his heart swell a little. 

“Thanks, guys.” Louis smiles at each of them.

“Can’t wait to see you smash it, babes.” Perrie winks, giving him a thumbs up.

“Excellent! The more the merrier.” Harry claps his hands together. “Right! Let’s get back to the production for today. I’d like to see this one more time, from the top, please!” He stands as the students begin shuffling to their places.

 

***

 

“Twenty-three.” Perrie whispers in Louis’ ear while they’re waiting for further instruction. 

It’s the last hour of the day. They’ve begun learning the routine that’ll go behind his and Zayn’s first duet, and now Harry is moving through them one at a time, calling each dancer to come and sit with him for a short one-to-one catch up. The rest of them have been told to autonomously stretch or rehearse while they wait. Though Perrie is also using this time to gossip, too.

“Pez, honestly. Stop it.” Louis chuckles.

“That’s twenty-four!” Perrie giggles.

“Why is this so _fun_ for you?”

“Ooh, that was the twenty-fifth, and it lasted longer than the others.” She nudges him with her elbow. “It’s _crazy_ , you’re not even _facing_ him!”

“ _Perrie_.” Louis rolls his eyes now.

“She’s not lying, Louis.” Jade bites her lip. “He does keep looking over here.”

“Probably because he knows how anxious I was about Perrie’s bloody behaviour!” Louis laughs lightly, though his cheeks have heated up a little at Jade’s validation of Perrie’s comments. 

Harry has looked over at Louis twenty-five times in the last fifteen minutes.

"He's probably admiring your arse while you’re stretching.” Perrie says, not at all minding her bluntness.

“ _Pez_.” Louis puts his head in his hands. This feels too much like he’s on the playground and his friends are watching his crush for him because he’s too shy. Which.

 

//

 

“Perrie next, please!” Harry calls out then, and Perrie shoots them all a cheeky look before she moves away from the _barre_ where she was leaning too close to Louis to be either stretching _or_ rehearsing – most probably gossiping about something then – and comes and sits in the chair opposite him. That look is still in her eye and Harry figures it’d be best to clear something up before they begin.

“Perrie, before we start, I’m just going to clarify that this chat is for you to let me know how you’re feeling about the production, my teaching methods etcetera, etcetera. It’s definitely _not_ going to cover anything remotely related to any other dancers. Unless they are cause for concern. Got it?” He raises an eyebrow.

Perrie makes a show of rolling her eyes as she shifts her weight in the chair and folds her arms.

“You’re no fun, Harry.” She sighs, then chuckles and nods. “Okay. I’ll drop it.”

“Good.” Harry, returns her nod. “Thank you.”

She flashes him a grin when he quickly glances over to see that Louis is watching them both intently.

“Is everything alright with Louis? He looks concerned.” He asks her, ignoring her smile.

The blonde just bursts into a fit of giggles, which leaves Harry extremely confused. It doesn’t help his confusion when she turns over her shoulder to meet Louis’ eyes and shouts, “Twenty-six!” 


	17. XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Competition - Part One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was incredibly fun to write. I really really hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> (Just another quick reminder that *** represents a scene-shift and // represents a change in POV between H and L.)

Saturday morning pulls a great shuddery breath out of Louis as a dreamless sleep falls away from him. Before he’s even properly aware of the fact he’s awake, he’s already got tight waves of anxiety curling in his chest.

 _The competition is today_.

With a carefully controlled sigh, blinking his eyes awake properly, he stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, willing it to be Friday again instead. _Just one more_ _day_.

But his phone chimes on the bedside table next to him, and he sighs again, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and just sits there for a moment, ignoring his phone and staring at the carpet. After procrastinating long enough, he rubs a hand over his mouth and jaw to scratch absently at the front of his throat, then finally moves to pick up his phone.

His hands are a little shaky.

He’s not nervous about the routine, as such. Well, no more than would be expected. Thanks to Harry and their endless rehearsals, he knows it like the back of his hand now. No, it’s mainly the _whole entire concept_ that brings him his nerves. Like the fact he’s representing Madam Charee and her school. The fact he’s representing Harry Styles’ Post-Russia Career. The fact he’s representing Zayn and Perrie and Jade, in a way too. And the fact he’s also representing himself, and what he’s achieved since starting his training in London. He’s representing how far he’s come since deciding to pursue this professionally.

Shit. That’s a lot of representation.

He reads the text, not really taking it in, and pushes a breath out through his lips. The phone clatters back onto the night stand when he stands up, stretching his arms out wide, rolling his fingers into fists and back out again. He tips his chin back – not too far, he’s trained _more_ than enough to know not to do that – and then tilts his head side to side, his neck creaking nicely. He lets out another breath.

He knows exactly why he’s taking his time. The air is thick with tension today; he can already feel it.

“Fucking hell…” He mutters to himself, heading to the kitchen to do the first thing that comes to mind when he’s feeling this way.

Put the kettle on.

 

***

 

“- and she figured it would just be less stressful later on, you know, no one having to worry about getting home tonight. And with any luck, that’ll be a good thing, because we’ll all be wanting to celebrate anyway.” Harry grins, crookedly, his voice raised just above the sound of the tracks.

The London Underground _click-clack click-clack_ ’s its way through the tunnel, heavy and loud in its movements. Louis is holding onto one of the poles that runs from the ceiling to the floor of the carriage, and is effectively trapping Harry against the corner by the doors. Though not literally; Harry’s holding onto the same pole as Louis, and doesn’t seem too phased at being cornered there as he happily explains to Louis why he’d texted him earlier telling him to pack a change of clothes and some toiletries. Harry had organised with Madam Charee to book them all into the nearest hotel to the Olympia for the night.

Louis nods, smiling a little at Harry’s faithful grin, but really, it only adds to the churning in his stomach. Harry probably has too much faith in him.

The carriage jolts around a corner and Louis involuntarily sways further into Harry’s personal space.

He chuckles, “sorry”, but Harry shakes his head, dismissing it, and just smiles again.

“So where is Madam Charee?” Louis asks. A man behind him coughs loudly and he grimaces. The tube is not the nicest of places, but the ever-busy Central Line is probably the worst.

“She’s coming by car.” Harry answers, glancing over Louis’ shoulder at the man who coughed. “Said the tube was too much for her… which I’m now starting to agree with, a little bit.”

Louis huffs out a quiet laugh, ducking his head and heaving his holdall bag higher up on his shoulder.

The train slows to its next stop, and thankfully, quite a few people seem to leave the carriage. Louis releases a long breath at the sudden influx of space, feeling grateful. But then quite a few _more_ people get on once those passengers have left, and there actually turns out to be _less_ space between everyone than there was before, the air suddenly muggy and close. The long breath turns back into an inhale and Louis grits his teeth.

He’s is about to turn his mind elsewhere, comment on how pleased he is that Madam Charee is coming to support him, when a particularly large man shoves himself between Louis’ back and another passenger – where there most definitely _isn’t_ a gap, thank you _very_ much – and consequently, Louis ends up shunting forward, almost stepping on Harry’s clown feet, the pair of them now helplessly trapped in the corner, Harry almost banging the back of his head against the curve of the carriage ceiling.

He still doesn’t seem too fussed by it though.

“Let’s hope the next stop doesn’t open the doors on _this_ side of the train.” He chuckles, voice low so only Louis can hear him.

A toddler starts to wail somewhere further down their carriage and Louis could quite easily join in. He winces, slightly embarrassed at their sudden proximity even though he shouldn’t be because this is Harry. But he’s unable to look anywhere except Harry’s eyes. (Literally. Physically unable to turn his head, really. So. Eyes it is.) The taller man towers over him in the crowded space. Their feet share the same tiny section of floor. Harry smells faintly of lavender, and Louis can feel his breath on his chin.

“Sorry,” Louis mumbles, his face slightly withered.

“Don’t be.” Is Harry’s response, and then his mouth quirks up at one corner, eyes dropping to Louis’ mouth playfully. “I quite like this turn of events.”

The air between them suddenly changes, and Louis can’t help but slowly grin himself, using the pole to pull himself that tiny bit further so he can teasingly brush his nose against Harry’s a little. He’s still half-smiling when he pecks Harry once, twice, and is about to close his eyes too, when he spots movement in his peripheral.

He glances over to where Perrie and Jade are in seats a little way down the carriage, over Harry’s shoulder. The girls are grinning and winking, then Perrie is making a heart with her hands and placing it above her left eye, and Jade is making her fingertips kiss like they’re little puppets.

Louis ducks his face away from Harry suddenly, grinning even wider, a blush on his cheeks. To be honest, PDA has never been his sort of thing, he’s actually quite surprised at his own actions. It did help the competition nerves a little though, he notes to himself.

Harry doesn’t question Louis’ sudden hesitance, just moves his hand slightly on the pole so that his pinky finger brushes against Louis’ knuckle just a little.

Louis, eyes still on their feet and grin still wide, pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and moves his hand up a little too, letting two of his fingers cover Harry’s. He squeezes, and Harry lets out a little huff of a smile above his head.

 

 

***

 

 

Louis is still not himself as they get off the tube. He’s still quiet and seemingly deep in thought all the while they’re walking to the hotel, and even once they’ve checked in and are discussing who’s sharing with who.

It’s probably just his nerves. Harry tries not to let it worry him too much.

Madam Charee was already waiting in the hotel lounge when they all arrived, and as soon as she’d spotted Louis she’d pulled him close. Harry had smiled as he’d watched her whisper something to him, then pull back to hold him at arm’s length and squeeze his hand a few times as she’d continued, her eyes wide and serious and sincere.

“Well, you’ve booked four twin rooms, Madam Charee.” Harry is now explaining, smiling warmly over his coffee. “How do you want to sort everyone?”

The hotel lounge is delicately quiet and nicely decorated. There’s gentle piano playing from somewhere, and everyone is huddled around a large coffee table, squished together on plush sofas and sipping from hot drinks as they listen to Harry and Madam Charee sort out who’s sleeping where.

“Okay, well I think you and I are to share, ‘Arry.” Madam Charee nods, then lifts her own coffee to her lips. “Teachers in the same room. That is best.”

Harry spares a quick glance across the table to Louis, finding his cup still full of tea and his eyes semi-glazed over, staring at the coffee table. His gaze then flicks to Perrie instead, sat beside Louis, and she sends Harry a small shrug and an unsure look.

“And then the two girls together, Perrie and Jade; and Louis with Zayn. Kevin can take the last room by himself.” Madam Charee continues with a nod. She looks to Harry then, pausing with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. Harry realises she’s looking for his nod of agreement too, and he quickly ducks his chin once, his mind not really following, wanting too badly to glance across the table again and make sure Louis is okay.

“ _Très_ _bien_. ‘Ere are the room keys.” Madam Charee places key cards onto the coffee table, and people start grabbing one each. “And while I ‘ave you ‘ere, everyone.” She continues, “Today is very important to us as a school. I want it taken seriously. Obviously, you are adults, and I trust you to behave appropriately. But please, don’t forget _who_ you are representing while you are walking around the event.”

“You, Madam Charee.” Kevin answers, earning himself a look from Louis, who seems to have now snapped out of his daydreaming.

Madam Charee frowns and shakes her head quickly, putting down her empty coffee cup.

“ _Yourselves_.” She corrects Kevin, then stands, holding her handbag in both hands. “I will retire to our room, ‘Arry. I’d like to change before Louis performs.” She informs the younger teacher. “And that reminds me,” she turns to address everyone, “no _coddling_ ‘im today please.” She makes sure each dancer has understood, then turns back to Harry. “Especially from you, _Monsieur Styles_.” She sets him a look, one slick eyebrow raising.

Harry swallows.

“Okay! _Merci_!” She sing-songs, then clip-clops away from the table in her short heels.

Perrie giggles quietly, slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders when Harry meets her eyes. Harry watches her give him a squeeze, knocking her knuckles against his chin, and thankfully it actually brings a smile out of the man.

“Okay then guys.” Harry drains his cup and puts it down. “Let’s freshen up, it’s…” he flicks his wrist into his eye line, “almost eleven. I’ll meet you all down here at midday and we’ll go and find some lunch. Louis, we’ll go and get you signed in after we’ve eaten, is that alright?” 

Louis meets Harry’s eyes, and nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Good.” Harry musters his warmest smile. “Here at midday then.” He repeats, and with that, they all leave the table and head towards the lifts.

 

 

***

 

 

“You’re nervous.” 

Louis is chewing at his thumbnail, knees pulled up to his chest as he perches on the armchair meant for the hotel room’s desk. He’s dragged it over to the window and is staring out at the street below as he chews.

Zayn moves over to sit on one of the twin beds, twiddling his thumbs between his knees as he waits for Louis to answer. When it’s obvious he isn’t going to, Zayn tries again.

“It’s okay to feel-”

“I know it’s okay.” Louis cuts him off, still staring out the window.

“Okay.” Zayn nods, eyes a little wide. “I just… I figured I’d try and talk to you about it? Seeing as I’ve been in this position before?” His voice is gentle, and after a few seconds Louis turns to look at him.

“You’ve bitten your nail quite low.” Zayn gestures to Louis thumb with a small grimace. 

Louis looks at his own thumb, then drops it into his lap.

“You…”, Louis starts, “Is this weird for you?" 

“What? Not competing?” Zayn asks, then nods when Louis does. “Yeah, it’s a little bit weird.” He chuckles. 

Louis thumb is back between his teeth. “Sorry.”

“Oh god, no. Louis, mate.” Zayn shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’m actually- … It makes a nice change. Doing it every year, it… it can get a bit… don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that I get the opportunity, but…” He pauses, scratching at the back of his neck absently. “I’ve sort of grown tired of the whole ‘teacher’s favourite’ thing… Very tired, actually.” He huffs an empty laugh. Louis is just watching him, blinking. “I’ve always been honoured to represent Madam Charee and the school… it’s just… yeah. I’m more than happy that you’ve got the opportunity instead this year.” He smiles properly then, sincere and bright-eyed. Louis sucks in a slow breath, nerves building at the reminder. “You’ll do _great_ , Louis. I can’t wait to see it, especially knowing you choreographed it yourself! That’s insane!” He reaches over to squeeze at Louis’ shoulder. “I’m excited.” He beams. “And you should be too.”

Louis nods, smiling a little. Zayn’s a decent guy.

“Anyway, we’ve got about half an hour to kill. Any ideas?” Zayn stands and moves over to the other bed, flopping onto his back and resting his hands on his stomach.

Louis doesn’t really have any ideas.

“Or I can leave you alone and shut up?” Zayn chuckles. Louis chuckles too and that seems to settle it. “I’ll stick the telly on.”

Louis nods, grateful, and goes back to staring out the window.

“Oh, wait, I nearly forgot…” Zayn mutes the telly on some comedy channel. “I’ve had a word with Kevin.”

Louis frowns, turning back to face the other dancer.

“He said I can crash in his room tonight. You know… give you some space?” There’s a certain twinkle in Zayn’s eyes and Louis blushes a bit.

“Uh…” He pulls his mouth to one side to stop himself grinning. “Thanks, Zayn.” He quickly covers his mouth with his hand when it’s evident the former method isn’t working. Zayn really is a decent guy.

Zayn winks. 

“No worries, mate.” He unmutes the telly, then adds. “Harry’ll be extra happy. I hear Madam Charee is a snorer.”

At this, Louis lets out a high bark of laughter, shortly joined by Zayn. He groans quietly and lets his head fall into his hands, still half laughing at himself.

“Oh god, are we really that obvious?” He mumbles into his palm.

“Is what really that obvious?” Zayn asks, his voice giving away his smirk. “Oh look, there’s reruns of Impractical Jokers on.”

Yeah. Really decent.

 

 

***

 

 

After a group trip to a fancy sandwich bar down the road from the hotel – where Louis, despite attempted encouragement from both Harry and Perrie, was unable to eat much more than a few bites of salad – they make their way inside the Olympia, where Harry decides to disappear to sign Louis in alone, worried it’ll just make him feel worse to queue up.

He finds them again later, looking at a dancewear stand. 

“It’s pricey though, Pez…” Harry hears Jade mutter not-so under her breath as he jogs up to them.

“What’re we looking at?” He glances to the tutu, an inky black velvet and sapphire silk design, displayed on a satin mannequin. “Wow, that’s beautiful.”

“Perrie wants it.” Jade nods to where Perrie is impatiently waiting for the owner of the stall to finish up with another customer. She’s bouncing on her toes and grinning at them wildly. 

Harry chuckles. 

“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt this shopping spree, but I’m afraid Louis,” he turns to meet his eyes, “it’s time to get changed and warmed up. You ready?” 

He doesn’t miss Louis’ almost-audible swallow, and makes sure to keep a reassuring hand at the small of his back as they leave the two girls behind and head towards the performance end of the hall.

 

 

***

 

 

“What’s going through your head?”

Louis ignores the question for a moment, completing his ankle prep at the _barre_ in silence.

There’s a temporary warm-up studio space set up behind the stage for the dancers to prepare inside. All along one wall stand portable ballet _barres_ set at various heights, and there’re some free-standing, full-length mirrors clustered in one corner. All around him, other dancers are going through stretching routines, rehearsing sequences or getting pep-talked by their instructors. Louis’ heart feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of his chest. It’s bad enough that he’s wearing nothing but spandex ballet tights the colour of his own skin. Talk about vulnerable.

_Right ankle. Clockwise, anti-clockwise, clockwise, anti-clockwise._

“My tights are chafing.” Is what he finally says, earning a quiet snort of laughter from Harry.

The taller man is silent for a moment, seated in a plastic chair off to Louis’ side so he can chat to him while he warms up. He plays with his fingers, obviously thinking.

“Louis, you know you’ve got this.” He finally says, voice relatively low. Louis can feel his eyes on him so he turns to lean with his back against the bar, meeting Harry’s gaze. “ _I_ know you’ve got this. _They_ know you’ve got this… It’s just you left.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Harry-”

“No, Louis. Whether you want us to or not, whether you think we _should_ or not, we all believe in you.” Harry cuts him off, standing up. “And look, there can only be one winner.” He pauses. “In each section, anyway.” Louis can’t help but smile at his self-correction. “And okay, if it’s not you, then it’s not you. But that’s just based on the opinion of _four_ people. Four.”

“Yeah, four highly-trained, I.D.T.A-qualified _professionals_.” Louis mumbles.

“Excuse me? Who am I?” Harry pulls a face, then laughs when Louis just gives him an unamused look. “No, but, what I’m saying is, I didn’t pick you to do this because I felt you needed… _validation_ from four professionals sat behind a desk.” Harry lifts a hand to move a piece of Louis’ fringe out of his face. Louis can’t help but nuzzle into it slightly. “I picked you because… I wanted you to be able to show _yourself_ just what you can do.” Harry’s hand comes back to gently cradle Louis’ jaw, his other hand doing the same, and soon he’s looking right into Louis’ eyes and Louis can’t see a single thing except pure emerald honesty. “Self-validation is more important than the opinions of a thousand qualified professionals.” He says, voice raw. Louis’ eyes begin to burn a little. He blinks, swallowing, and nodding as much as he can in Harry’s grip. Then Harry’s pressing a kiss to his forehead and Louis decides that even if it takes him years, he wants to understand what Harry means. He wants to be able to see what Harry sees in him. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs, voice shaky. Harry’s still got his mouth pressed to Louis’ forehead, and he pulls back to drop another kiss onto his lips instead.

“Go and show _yourself_ how talented you are, Mr Tomlinson.” Harry breathes against his lips.

Louis smiles a little, feeling suddenly very determined.

“Oh, and…” Harry pulls back, reaching into his jacket pocket for something. Louis looks around the room in those few seconds as he waits, locking eyes with another dancer from another school – _you’re not a teenager anymore, Louis, this isn’t going to be like that_ – and shakily sends the guy a curt nod in greeting. Time seems to move achingly slowly, all the while Louis is fully expecting the guy to either shout some absurd insult or glare or swear, but then he finally nods back, instead. His eyes sincere, his mouth in a polite smile. Louis feels the weight of a thousand bad memories lift off of his shoulders in that moment, and he sends the guy a smile too, hoping it conveys enough of the luck he wishes him.

Okay. This is okay. 

“A present.” Harry’s voice snaps him back, and Louis looks at him, expectant. “It’s just a silly little thing I’ve done since I was a child. For good luck, and all that.” Harry says, and places something into Louis’ palm.

“It’s a sweet.” Louis states, unwrapping the candy and smiling.

“Yep,” Harry’s already put his in his mouth. “My favourites. Werther’s Originals.” He speaks around the candy. “Just a silly thing for luck, you don’t have to eat it.”

“No, I want to eat it.” Louis shakes his head, unwraps the sweet and pops it into his mouth. He sends Harry a wide grin. “Thank you.”

Harry winks.

 

 

***

 

 

“This is it then, Lou. You’re next.” Harry’s with him in the wings.

Number 27 in his section is just dancing, and Louis is number 28. Harry pretends he hasn’t noticed Louis’ choice of not watching all the dancers up until now. He was the same when he used to compete; always worried that watching the others would make him forget his own routine.

“Alright?” He checks in, earning nothing but a nod from Louis. He doesn’t press him anymore than that.

“Remember this is all for _you_. Nobody else.” Harry whispers, taking one of Louis’ hands and squeezing. “I have every faith in you. Dance it like you’ve danced it every time we’ve rehearsed, and you’ll sail through it. It’ll be over before you know it, and I’ll be in the wings on the other side of the stage ready for when you come off, yeah?”

Another nod.

“Oh, and there’s someone special in the audience.” Harry quickly adds. “Told me not to tell you, but how you could dance without knowing your own mum was watching, eh?”

Louis’ eyes widen.

Number 27’s music slowly begins to fade.

“Okay, kiddo.” Oops. That’ll probably come back to bite him. Harry grins, willing some of his positivity into Louis. “Do me proud.” 

“Number 28, Louis William Tomlinson.” A voice booms over the sound system.

With one last squeeze to his hand, Harry lets go, and Louis lets out a controlled breath before disappearing through the wings and into the wash of stage lights.

Harry holds his breath.

 

 

***

 

 

Louis soars. He quite literally soars.

From his place in the wings, Harry watches Louis’ every move. His footwork is tight and technically strong, his stage-presence confident and convincing. The elevated steps have good height and power, and his arms are precise, soft when they need to be, and purposeful. His floor-work is controlled and flexible, feet always stretched, back arching at all the right moments. His lines are pin-sharp and definite, Harry even notices the vein on Louis’ neck protruding with his efforts. He’s utterly submersed in his movements. Completely and utterly devoted.

As his teacher, Harry is proud of Louis’ work in this moment. But as _always_ , ever since watching him through that tiny studio window, Harry is blown away by Louis’ passion. Harry doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s nervous, or just because he knows this is the actual performance, but Louis is filling every single movement with unabashed, undisturbed _feeling_.

 _He’s living this routine_ , Harry thinks. He’s _alive_ with it, _glowing_.

Louis dances like he’s weightless. Like he’s walking on air in shoes made of spiders webs. He dances with fire in his chest and water dripping from his limbs. Like he’s weaving light from his fingers and toes. Like he hasn’t a care in the world. Like his life depends on it.

Louis dances with his eyes closed. 

He dances like he’s free.

Harry’s heart swells, heavy in his chest. Then he realises Louis is coming up to his final few steps.

He quickly darts down the passage along the back of the stage so that he’s there for when Louis comes off, eager to make it around in time to see the ending of the routine. 

The music builds, Hozier’s rough voice finishing the final chorus, and as the last few strums of guitar boom through the speakers, Harry makes it just in time to see Louis _fly_.

After a triple _pirouette_ at the far left corner of the stage, Louis runs down, perfectly executing two consecutive _grand_ _jeté_ in a row, the second lifting him higher than Harry has _ever_ seen him do. His legs over-splitting front and back, the small of his back curving neatly, Louis' final leap of the routine is perfect. He lands it, falls slowly to his knees, and lets his arms drop at his sides as the music fades. His ending position is front and centre.

He did it.

The thunderous applause doesn’t seem to totally register with him straight away, as Harry watches him stay there for a few seconds, bare chest heaving quickly, glistening with sweat.

Harry whistles with two fingers in his mouth, grinning.

“Lou!” He shouts, and Louis snaps out of it, blinking and finally taking in the audience, and the adjudicators at their table on a platform in front of him. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open, and quickly gets to his feet. He takes a professional bow, and turns towards Harry, his face breaking into the brightest smile when he meets his eyes. 

Harry opens his arms, “Lou, that was just _incredible!_ Absolutely- _oof_!”  He laughs, suddenly with an armful of Louis, and presses his face into Louis’ shoulder. “You were sensational.” He whispers into his skin, unsure if Louis can even hear him, but saying it anyway, because he just has to.

 

//

 

After a long few seconds of tucking his face into the side of Harry’s neck, Louis pulls himself away, aware that he’s really quite sweaty and Harry probably doesn’t want to be covered in it. His heart is still hammering too, which Harry probably felt, but.

Harry’s looking at him with something so strong Louis almost can’t breathe. Well, he _already_ can’t breathe, but that look is making it even harder. He just keeps their gazes locked as his chest heaves, his arms falling to his sides, worn out. 

He opens his mouth, finally gathering enough air in his lungs to speak-

“ _Louuuu_! Oh my _fucking_ god!!!”

Suddenly, there’s a lot more people in the wings, and Louis is almost knocked over by a flurry of bodies surrounding him. Their compliments and hugs break him away from Harry, who’s still looking at him, albeit a slightly sad softness on his face. But then he’s smiling a bit, shaking his head and mouthing that it’s okay.

Louis keeps his eyes on him a few seconds longer, unsure of what he’d just missed out on between them, and then gives in to the dancers grabbing onto him. He grins, accepting tight hugs from the girls and Zayn, Kevin holding back and clapping him hard on the shoulder instead, then ruffling his hair. He laughs, swatting at Kevin, one arm still around Perrie’s shoulders who’s grimacing at how sweaty he is. Then his Mum is there too, jokingly scolding the others for not letting her see him first, and he holds onto her so tightly, suddenly feeling very young. She’s petting his hair and telling him how proud she is, and Louis’ eyes are welling up so he shoves his face into her shoulder to hide. When he glances back up to look over at Harry again, he frowns when he finds that Harry’s gone.

 


	18. XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Competition - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another incredibly fun one! Enjoy! 
> 
> ((You guys are probably gonna hate me by the end of this. I'm apologising now!))

“Guys, we can’t have this many people backstage you’ll have to return to the dressing rooms or go to the food hall and wait there instead, please.”

A stagehand’s controlled voice suddenly appears to the left of the group and he’s ushering them towards the exit and down the back of the stage area.

Louis is still peering around for Harry, wondering whether he just moved and is talking to someone else in the group, or whether he actually left completely.

“C’mon, Louis.” Zayn is now personally ushering Louis out and with a sigh and a strange tight feeling in his chest that beats in time with his heart, he gives up and follows.

 

***

 

They don’t usually announce results at big events like this until after everyone has danced and the adjudicators have had a significant amount of time to go over their decisions. This means Louis has plenty of time to catch up with his mum and introduce her to everyone from the school.

“Goodness, you’re a lively bunch.” Jay chuckles once they’re all settled again.

Louis had quickly chucked a baggy hoodie on over his ballet tights so he didn’t have to go back into the main hall area shirtless, and then they all headed out towards the refreshments. They settle back down around a table in a section for competitors and families, where some food stands, a hot beverages truck, and a bar serving soft drinks are set up all along one side. It’s only sectioned off by hip-height ropes though, so they can still watch the competition.

“Well, you’ve met Perrie before, Mum.” Louis gestures to the blonde first, who wiggles her fingers in a wave and smiles so big her eyes close.

“Yes, that was a very unusual FaceTime call.” Jay laughs. “But I now know more about the benefits of charcoal face masks, so I can’t complain!”

“Trust me, it was a desperately-needed operation.” Perrie pulls a face and circles a hand around Louis’ T-zone. He grimaces and slaps her hand away, which just makes her cackle.

“And this is Jade, Perrie’s right arm.” Louis points at Jade, one chair round from Perrie.

“She’s me left.” Jade jabs a thumb at Perrie, then smiles warmly at Jay. “Nice to meet ya.”

“You too, Jade.” Jay returns, just as warmly.

The introductions continue around the small circle; Zayn shakes Jay’s hand politely, and Kevin gives a small, shyish nod, eyes warm. Zayn then starts nattering about Louis’ dancing and asking if he got his talent from Jay – he’s so charming, Louis would roll his eyes out loud if he could – but he then realises that maybe he should’ve had his mum visit him in London sooner. Everyone seems so keen to get on with her, and really, Jade’s mum visits so often, and Kevin’s dad occasionally visits on weekends and buys them all a round at the pub before embarrassing his son by hogging the karaoke. It’s always fun to have someone’s parent around, it shifts the group dynamic, and his mum seems so happy to be meeting them all. Louis feels a bit guilty, really. 

“Hang on, where’s Harry gone?” Jade suddenly pipes up when the chatter between the two lads and Louis’ mum dies down a little. 

Louis realises most eyes are on him for the answer and it hurts a little that all he can do is shrug.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, looking at the table. “He was backstage when you all came to see me, and then he just disappeared. Maybe he had to do something, I don’t know-”

“Can I treat anyone to a coffee?”

As if on cue, the very man himself is suddenly at the table, standing behind Zayn and holding is wallet in the air.

“Harry!” Perrie sings, laughing. “Oh my god, _yes_. I’d love one, please.”

Harry nods, and everyone else follows Perrie, either giving their orders or politely declining Harry’s offer. He disappears to get the drinks and everyone around the table falls back into relaxed chatter. Louis meets his mum’s eyes and she’s frowning at him a little, concern glittering in the blue-green of her eyes.

“How’re the girls?” He asks, hoping she’ll take the hint and not ask him any questions. _Not right now._

Thankfully, Jay goes off on one about the twins’ school play, and then about how Fizzy seems to have found a keen interest in veterinary science just recently.

“I can see her doing that, actually.” Louis nods.

“Orders up.” Harry interrupts whatever Jay was about to reply with, placing a plastic tray of takeaway coffees in the middle of the table.

Everyone takes their own – Louis’ the only one having ordered tea, of course – and Harry takes a seat from another table and pulls it up to sit between Jay and Zayn, directly opposite Louis.

“Hi,” He holds his hand out to Louis’ mother with a bright, dimply smile. “I’m so sorry to have not introduced myself sooner, I’m Harry. I teach these lot.” He grins.

Jay takes his offered hand and smiles - a little wider than she had for all the others, Louis notices. Oh no.

“Hello, Harry. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Louis, having braced himself for something a lot worse, let’s out a deep breath and sips his tea to disguise it, relaxing more into his chair.

From there, everyone falls into more chatter about Louis’ performance. Jay thanks Harry for “finally getting my boy back on the competition scene”, and doesn’t hesitate to express how worried she was that he’d given up on competition dancing completely, calling it a “waste of talent” and all things similar. It’s bad enough. Louis wants his chair to sink into the floor and take him with it. But when Harry then begins agreeing with her, adding on how he’s always been impressed by Louis’ skills and didn’t understand why he’d kept his talent such a secret, the others then start agreeing too, and Louis’ cheeks flame up and his chest goes tight and he really wants to turn invisible.

Harry must notice how uncomfortable Louis’ becoming, because he changes the subject and starts asking Jay whether she’s ever danced. Everyone’s a charmer, it seems.

“ _Mes beaux danseurs_!”

Madam Charee’s unmistakeable voice cuts through everyone’s conversations. She’s weaving her way between tables and throwing her arms in the air, earning herself a few looks. Kevin lets out a poorly-disguised snort and Jade elbows him, covering her mouth with her hand when Madam Charee comes to stand behind Harry, placing her hands on his shoulders quite heavily. His eyes widen comically and then he’s laughing.

“Louis.” Madam Charee meets Louis’ eyes from behind Harry, beaming. “I am so proud of you.” She says, her accent thick, and he can tell she probably wanted to say it in French but forced herself not to. 

Harry is beaming at him just as much as Madam is.

She takes her hands off of Harry’s shoulders and throws them loosely in the air with a half shrug. “If it were to down to me, you would win. _Sans aucun doute_.”

Louis swallows his mouthful of tea and puts his cup down, winding his hands inside his hoodie sleeves. He’s only just able to meet her eyes, if he’s honest.

“Thank you, Madam Charee. That… that means a lot, yeah.” He shoots her his most relaxed smile, hoping it meets his eyes properly. It _is_ a lot, is the thing, to hear such personal compliments from someone who has more dancers to her name than Louis’ had hot dinners.

“I apologise for not coming to find you sooner.” She says, frowning down at something on Harry’s head, “I was talking with a dear friend I used to dance with.” Whatever she’s frowning at, she then retrieves with long, manicured nails, and pulls a face at before flicking it away and dismissing it. “I do love to see my old ballet friends.”

Harry ducks away from Madam Charee’s hands and turns to frown at wherever she flicked whatever it was. He turns back to the table with an affronted frown, a hand coming up to the top of head, and he meets Perrie’s eyes who’s already giggling at him.

“Cherish these people.” Madam Charee looks at each of them as she waves a finger in a circle around the table. Then she spots Jay, and begins to introduce herself in her usual extravagant manner.

“Got something in your hair, Harry?” Perrie leans forward to mutter, still grinning in amusement.

Harry meets Louis’ eyes, an eyebrow raising in question, “Did you see what it was?”

Louis shrugs, hiding his smirk behind his tea, secretly glad that Madam Charee’s – and subsequently the rest of the table’s – attention is no longer on him, and shakes his head across the table at Harry.

“Just fluff, I think.” He answers. “Maybe she thinks you’re _dirty_.” He adds, smirk now very poorly hidden as he takes a sip.

“Oh, guys, I’m all for… whatever, but please don’t do the flirting thing in front of me.” Perrie holds up her hands, pulling a face. “Heart eyes is cute. Flirting is _cringey_.”

Louis begins to laugh, and then his head snaps to look at his mother, finding her expression is one of interest and amusement, and a little bit _knowing_. He’s just about to start praying his mum isn’t about to open her mouth and embarrass him. But then she’s back to talking with a totally oblivious Madam Charee about something to do with Paris. Okay.

Louis let’s his eyes drop to the table, picking up his tea and cradling it in both hands.

He feels something collide with his right shin under the table and looks up to find Harry’s eyes on his.

“You okay?” His teacher mouths quickly, brow creased and eyes doing that deep thing that Louis can’t look at for too long.

He feels himself calm significantly, and nods, eyes finding his tea again. Then he makes sure to look up through his lashes and smile when his leg finds Harry’s again, brushing his ankle up the length of Harry’s calf.

Harry’s eyes flick up to meet his again, and they darken a touch, his mouth quirking up at one corner, coffee halfway to his lips.

Hmm.

Their contact goes unnoticed by the rest of the group and it makes something fizzle inside Louis. He keeps his eyes on Harry’s for a second longer, then let’s his smile form fully as he drops his gaze back to his tea.

“Does anyone wanna have another look at the dancewear stalls? Jade and I want to look at jazz shoes.” 

Not even the suddenness of Perrie’s loud voice can stem the warmth in Louis’ belly.

 

***

 

Jay stays behind with Madam Charee, and Kevin heads back to the hotel to chill in his room before the results. Zayn says he wants to check out the competition a bit more, and goes to find a proper seat to watch. Perrie and Jade are fussing over jazz shoes as Harry brings his hand up to Louis’ elbow, keeping his voice low.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

They’re standing near the _pointe_ shoes; Harry is sure the girls won’t disturb them here.

Louis nods, smiling, and it reaches his eyes and little crinkles appear at the edges. Harry squeezes his elbow.

“Okay. Just… I know that might’ve been a bit…”

“A bit much?” Louis supplies, still smiling.

“Yeah, I mean… Everyone got a bit… All the talk about how your dance went and how we all think you should’ve done this long ag-”

“Yeah alright, I get it, Harry.” Louis cuts him off with an empty chuckle, then pushes a breath out through rounded lips and turns to fiddle with a pair of _pointe_ shoes hanging from a display hook next to him. “God,” another empty laugh, “you don’t need to rehash it.” 

Harry is quiet for a moment, watching Louis’ small fingers play with the _pointe_ shoe ribbons. His short fingernails and delicate knuckles look dainty against the pastel pink satin.

“It was a bit much, wasn’t it?” Harry takes Louis’ silence as a ‘yes’. “I’m sorry. I just wanted your mum to know how proud I am. I’ve…”

Louis must be listening, even if he doesn’t look like it, because when Harry pauses, so do Louis’ fingers on the ribbon.

“You’ve what?” He prompts quietly after a second, turning his head to meet Harry’s eyes but keeping his hands on the shoes. 

Harry huffs a light laugh and wipes dry hands across his jean-clad thighs, then shoves them into his back pockets and lifting his shoulders in a small shrug. This is probably the most awkward Louis has ever seen him. Well. Despite that time he very nearly kissed him, and ended up dropping him straight on his arse instead.

“Well… you’ll probably think I’m daft for getting so worried about it but…” he looks up to find Louis still peering at him, concern slowly seeping in with every new blink the longer Harry keeps him waiting. “Well, I’ve never met the parent of one of my students before, have I?” He huffs another laugh, light and self-deprecating and actually. Have their personalities switched a bit here? Well. Maybe they’re starting to rub off on each other. 

“Harry…” Louis’ voice is soft and gentle – exactly how he looks right now, drowned in his oversized hoodie – and he drops his hands from the pointe shoes to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck and pull him down to hug him. He lets out a soft sigh against Harry’s shoulder. “I very often forget that you’re new to this.”

“What, teaching?” Harry chuckles, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle, bunching the hoodie up a little. “It’s okay, you guys make it easy for me to come across as a natural. Truthfully… Actually, no, never mind.” He presses a kiss to Louis’ hair and then pulls back.

“What?” Louis frowns up at him, leaving his arms around Harry’s neck, Harry’s own staying at his waist. “Truthfully what?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” And he drops a kiss to Louis’ nose as if it’s a seal to the promise.

Louis looks like he’s about to protest, but then his stomach grumbles loudly and Harry realises he barely ate any lunch and hasn’t actually eaten anything since he danced. 

He chuckles.

“Come on, let’s find some food while we wait for these two.” He jabs a thumb behind him at where Perrie is trying on jazz shoes and Jade is comparing the soles of two different types.

Louis nods, weaving his fingers up into the curls at the top of Harry’s neck for a few seconds before dropping his arms completely and turning to leave the little shop area, heading back into the throng of people meandering along the walkways between stalls.

Harry glances at the _pointe_ shoes Louis had been looking at, an idea forming in his head.

 

***

 

“I need to talk to you.”

Louis says it through a mouthful of tuna and cheese panini – Harry probably thought he was being cute – not caring that he’s speaking with his mouth full. Harry only grimaces a little bit anyway, so. 

“Fire away.” The taller man only chose an apple, clearly not yet hungry enough for a meal. He takes a crunching bite out of it as he waits for Louis to speak. 

“When we were backstage, after I came off…” Louis begins, having now swallowed. He watches Harry’s eyes closely. “Why did you leave?” 

Harry takes another bite of his apple. Louis wonders whether it’s a stall tactic. Maybe he’s just overthinking.

Harry then leans forward, cradling his half-eaten apple in his hands and putting his weight on his elbows, knuckles almost brushing Louis’ hands where he’s holding his panini in greasy paper.

Applause fills the air as another dancer curtseys and leaves the stage. For a few seconds, it captures both the men’s attention, then Harry turns back to look at Louis’ profile as he finally answers the question.

“I didn’t want to intrude… basically.”

“What?” Louis’ voice comes out a bit more shrieky than he’d intended, but his frown hopefully tells Harry he’s genuinely confused. “ _Intrude_? Intrude on what?”

“You.” Harry lifts one shoulder. “And your friends. And your mum.” He’s fiddling with the stalk on the top of the apple, avoiding Louis’ eyes. “They obviously really wanted to come and see you. And yeah, I mean, they’re the closest people to you, so, I know it was an important moment for- but they all came rushing in and-”

It dawns on Louis then, as Harry’s executes his sentences so poorly, and he smirks, putting his panini down and folding his arms on the table. His forearms brush Harry’s knuckles. 

“You were pissed off that they interrupted us.”

Harry blanches, but denies it and sits back in his chair with a scoff - as if it’s doing anything to convince Louis, who is know nearly laughing.

“What?” Harry’s voice is high and shrieky too. _Hah_. “Louis- They’re your _family_ … basically, I didn’t want them to miss out -” 

“Admit it.” Louis cuts him off, earning Harry’s eyes on his and Harry’s fingers to still on the apple. He smirks again. “You got pissed off that they all came rushing in and swarmed me, and it meant you couldn’t talk to me alone anymore.” He tilts his head to the side, clicking his tongue cheekily.

“You’re starting to sound a bit full of yourself, Louis.” Harry informs him.

“I’m not wrong though, am I?” Louis challenges, smirk growing. 

Harry stays silent a moment, then sighs, dropping his hands into his lap and leaving his apple discarded on the table. 

He meets Louis’ eyes and gives in. 

“Alright! Yes, okay, alright…” He lifts his hands up, trying not to smile and failing. He looks off to Louis’ left. “My hands are up. I got a bit jealous.” He says, then folds his arms and meets Louis’ eyes again. He shrugs. “I was proud of you. Sue me.” 

Louis just lets his smirk become a grin, then chuckles and takes a large bite of his panini.

“That’s a little bit hot.” He says around his mouthful, tuna clumping at the roof of his mouth.

Harry laughs, then grimaces again.

“And that _isn’t_. Close your mouth.”

Louis just grins, messily,  then does as he’s told when Harry threatens to leave him at the table on his own.

 

***

 

Louis is placed First.

 _First Place_.

He fucking _won_.

He’s standing on the stage, the twenty-seven other dancers in his section stand in line with him, and his name has just been called for first place which means he needs to step forwards and accept his award.

The Olympia applauds as he receives the gold medal, ducking his head so it can be placed around his neck on its ribbon. He’s pretty sure he can hear people cheering too and he can’t control his grin.

The head adjudicator then stands from the table with a microphone and reads out his report, highlighting how each of the four of them especially admired his “emotive commitment” to the piece, and congratulates him on his “keen choreographic talent”. He keeps his hands politely and humbly behind his back as he listens to the comments, but they’re shaking, and inside his chest, his heart is hammering so fast the edges of his vision darken slightly.

 _He fucking won_.

He doesn’t quite believe he’s not dreaming.

He waits, jittery with happiness as the awards and comments for second, third and fourth position are also given out. It feels like hours, but eventually they’re being dismissed from the stage and ushered off to the right wings as the next section come on from the left to be given their results next.

Friends and family weren’t allowed side of stage for the results, and neither were instructors, so Louis has to wait until he’s back in the preparation area before he can see anyone.

They all start cheering before he’s even fully in the room and he grips hold of his medal in one hand, bringing the other one up to his mouth, a little embarrassed because the whole room is now looking at him as his friends scream way too loudly. 

Jay is quite clearly crying, his fellow dancers are clapping - Perrie is whooping too - Madam Charee is snapping photos on a disposable camera, and Harry. Harry is standing completely still, arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed on Louis and smiling brighter than Louis has ever seen. He’s the epitome of ‘proud’. Mixed a little bit with sunlight. 

Louis doesn’t even need to think twice. The first thing he does is head straight for Harry, the hand covering his mouth moving to grip Harry by the back of neck and pull him down for a fervent kiss.

As expected, the cheers get louder, combined with Perrie’s whooping turning into wolf whistles. Louis pays no mind to it, but when Harry parts his mouth and begins licking into him, Louis pulls away and laughs, swatting at his chest pathetically.

“My mother is _right_ _there_ , you oaf.” He whispers, but Harry’s shit-eating-grin doesn’t move.

“Go and give her a hug. I’m _so_ proud of you.” He says instead, eyes beautiful and sure and honest.

Louis grins.

“Yeah, you said.”

He hugs his mum incredibly tightly, making her cry even more, and when her congratulations turn into apologies about having to leave so soon to catch her train, he tells her he’ll call her as soon as he can, to organise when she can next visit.

“ _And_ to tell me all about that young man over there and why he’s looking at you like you hung the bloody stars.” She makes him add, her eyes teary, and then laughs and presses a kiss to her son’s forehead when Louis blushes.

Perrie hugs him so tight he thinks he might choke, and Jade grabs his face in her hands and smacks a kiss to his lips, which makes them both laugh quite a lot. Kevin promises not to do the same as Jade, making Louis laugh even more, and instead claps him on the back and ruffles his fringe, which Louis definitely ducks away from. Zayn slings an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and tells him he knew he would win all along, and Louis hugs him back and thanks him. 

Not a single person is able to shut up about it for hours.

They’re all still congratulating Louis even after Jay has said her goodbyes and he’s picked up his certificate and adjudicators report from the awards desk on the way out.

They’re walking back to the hotel when Jade shouts to get everyone’s attention.

“ _Bevvies_!!!!”

“ _Yes_ , Jade!! Golden Boy deserves to get absolutely, royally _trashed_!!” Perrie joins in, fist pumping the air.

“Guys…” Louis laughs, going to adjust his bag on his back out of habit but remembering that Harry is carrying it for him. Which. Yeah.

Everyone thinks he’s protesting and he starts getting booed which just makes him laugh. 

“Oi oi!!” He shouts over them. “I’m not saying no! I just want a fucking shower first!! Can I at least go back and have a shower? Christ!!”

The others laugh, including Harry beside him, and it is agreed that Louis is allowed to shower first. Zayn says he wants to do his hair anyway, and the girls start to take the piss out of him for being so hair-conscious, but quickly shut up when Zayn challenges them on it, getting them to admit they want to do their hair too.

Louis is chuckling, him and Harry walking slightly behind the rest as they turn the corner into the road where their hotel is. 

Harry scoops up Louis’ hand and laces their fingers, giving him a squeeze and a smile when Louis looks at him.

“Thank you.” Louis says, voice low so the others don’t listen in. “I wouldn’t have done this without you ‘pushing me’ or whatever you called it. So… yeah. Thanks.”

Harry hums, swinging their hands a little between them and brushing his thumb along Louis’.

“Anytime, Lou.”

 

***

 

Louis take his time as he showers, indulging himself by setting the temperature a little higher than he usually would. The hot water soothes the muscles in his neck and shoulders and back, and a part of him wishes he’d had time for a bath instead. He makes do with a loofah and the hotel’s luxurious toiletries as a compromise. 

He finishes up, grabs two towels and ties one around his waist, using the other to rub his hair as he steps out of the bathroom. He’s about to open his suitcase when he spots a note sitting on top of it.

 

**_Louis,_ **

****

**_I’ve gone to Kev’s room to get changed. He wants me to do his hair too! Yeah, I’m not joking. :D Everyone’s putting in so much effort because you won. They never did this with me, I’m a bit offended, mate._ **

****

**_Nah, I’m okay. :P_ **

****

**_Happy and proud for you, bro!!_ **

****

**_P.S. You can consider this me out of the room for the rest of the night. Just an FYI._ **

****

**_Z_ **

 

Louis smiles, shaking his head fondly as he drops his hair towel and moves the note to the side so can open up his case. The zip is two thirds undone when there’s a knock at the door.

He frowns, padding over with his bare feet against the hotel carpet, and peers through the peephole. When he finds that it’s Harry, he figures he should be fine in his towel, and pulls the door open.

“Can I help you?” He says, holding the door with one hand, the other finding his hip.

Harry’s face drops from whatever he was about to say, and Louis feels his eyes on him. He quirks an eyebrow at the silence.

“Close your mouth, Harry, you’ve seen me in less.”

Harry snaps his mouth shut and actually blushes a bit, then chuckles.

“Sorry.” He grins. “Can I come in?” 

“No, I’d much prefer to stand in the hotel hallway in only my towel.” Louis deadpans. Harry doesn’t give him the satisfaction of laughter so he rolls his eyes and drags him inside by his shirt. “Yes! Fine!” 

He heads back over to the bed and lets the door close heavily. He can still feel Harry’s eyes on him and he smirks to himself.

“Well? What did you need to come in for, or was the sole purpose of this visit just to ogle me in nothing but a towel?”

Harry hums and Louis chuckles, rounding to face him again.

“To be honest…” Harry begins, eyes dropping again, then he grins cheekily and shakes his head. “I just wanted to let you know that everyone’s currently undecided about what to do…” Harry begins, turning to look at himself in the floor-length mirror and leaning closer to inspect his chin. “Should I have shaved?”

“What are they undecided about? I thought we were going for drinks?” Louis asks, then adds, “And don’t be stupid. You couldn’t grow facial hair if you wished upon a star for it.”

Harry snorts and nods, dropping his gaze to his own mouth for a few seconds then turning away from the mirror altogether.

“Some of them want to go clubbing, others want casual drinks at a pub.”

Louis starts laughing, grabbing underwear and the clothes he’d packed for tomorrow out of his case. 

“That basically means that everyone except Kevin wants to go clubbing, and Kevin’s being a baby about it.”

Harry nods. “Well, Kevin and Madam Charee, if you’re being specific. I can’t really see her in a London club, can you?”

“Very true.” Louis agrees, still laughing, and drops his towel.

He’s pulling his boxers up his legs when he meets Harry’s eyes and smirks.

“Well done for not smacking your head on anything this time, love.” 

Harry grins, lifting a hand to sweep through his hair, and shifts his weight on his feet.

“Well, you did say I’ve seen you in less.”

“Very true.” Louis says again, and then throws his damp towel straight at Harry’s head.

 

***

 

“I take it my vote for G.A.Y got outvoted?” Louis jokes as they queue up to get inside some club he’s never heard of. Apparently Zayn knows someone who works there and he’d promised them their first round for free. Which, yeah. Louis’ll take it. Free alcohol, what’s not to like?

“Mine too.” Harry adds, earning a high-pitched cackle from the smaller man. Maybe they’d had a drink with Madam Charee at the hotel bar before they all left, so what.

“Fucks sake, Zayn! I thought you said you knew some bloke here?” Louis calls back to Zayn, a few people behind him in the queue. It’s fucking freezing and Louis is wearing a loose t-shirt and his ankles are out.

“Yeah, behind the bar, mate! Sorry to make you have to queue like a peasant!” Zayn shouts back.

“You’re a peasant!” Louis retorts, then crosses his arms and faces front again.

“Are you actually gonna drink tonight, then? Like, proper?” Louis asks later, as they finally begin to move down the queue.

Harry chuckles, reaching up to fix his shirt collar. Yet again he’s wearing ridiculously tight jeans, a shirt that he’s apparently never learned to button up properly – not that Louis is complaining – and his hair is tumbling to his shoulders, swept heavily to one side at the top. Louis lets his eyes linger on Harry’s thighs a little longer than he’d care to admit. 

“I don’t plan to make myself ill-” 

“ _Booooo_!” Perrie jeers from behind them in the queue, then breaks into giggles with Jade. Louis figures they’ll be tricky to get back to the hotel later. Fun fun fun.

Harry doesn’t reattempt his sentence so Louis leaves it. They’re nearly at the front of the queue anyway.

 

***

 

Once they’re finally inside, Louis has to take back his peasant comment, because Zayn’s friend hasn’t only bagged them free drinks, but he’s also arranged for them have one of the club’s VIP rooms with _their own private bar in the corner_. 

“I could kiss you, Z.” Louis says as he bounds into the room and flops onto the L-shaped sofa in the corner. “This is fucking brilliant.”

“I’ll pass thanks, Lou. It should be Josh you’re kissing, anyway, he did this, not me.” Zayn sits in a single chair opposite the sofa and swivels to hook his legs over the arm, flipping his lighter between his fingers. 

Josh isn’t in the room to comment on that so Louis lets it go. He relishes in the comfort of the sofa for a while, joined by Harry and the girls either side of him, and then sits upright and claps, rubbing his hands together. 

“Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.” He begins. “Seeing as the first round is _free_ , I’m thinking… tequila?”

“Louis-” Harry goes to interject, but Louis turns to face him and lifts a hand to shut him up.

“Harold, if you’re playing ‘responsible adult’ tonight I’m going to simply have to throw you out of my VIP room.”

“Oh, it’s _your_ VIP room is it?” Zayn takes the piss, earning a high-five from Perrie who’s already stood up, waiting for Louis so they can go and get the tequila shots.

Harry laughs and sits back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and shrugging with his hands resting on his sternum, fingers linked.

“Fair enough. Go for your life then.” He says with a smirk, and Louis winks before heading over to the bar with Perrie.

 

***

 

The VIP room plays whatever music is being played by the DJ on the dance floor, except it comes through via tinny speakers in the corners, and after a while, everyone figures it’d be more fun to actually get out into the main club properly. 

Everyone had a tequila shot – even Harry – and they’re now all nursing their own drinks, some a lot further ahead in the celebrations than others. 

“She’s gonna regret that tomorrow.” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear, nodding his head to where Jade is dancing quite _closely_ with Kevin.

“They might secretly like each other.” Harry counters, arms slung around Louis’ hips.

“Please, one secret relationship in our class is enough.” Louis chuckles, sliding his fingers up into Harry’s hair.

“I wouldn’t really say we’re secret anymore. Would you?” Harry raises an eyebrow, smirking.

Louis slowly smiles. “Well, not from these lot anyway.”

The song fades from one to the next and more and more people join the dancefloor. It’s hot. It’s really bloody hot, and Louis’ probably sweatier than he’d like to be. Maybe Harry’s lack of buttons was a clever idea. Smart bastard. 

As he’d pretty much guessed would happen, he and Harry have been dancing most of the night. He’s happily buzzed, drunk enough to not care about much, but not too drunk that he can’t control his limbs. It’s a nice place to find himself, as he wiggles his way closer to Harry in the throng of people, his arms hooked around his neck where they’ve been most of the night so far. Harry’s arms are tight around his waist, and his hands dip lower with every song. Louis can’t help but find the whole thing a little bit thrilling. 

“Truthfully what?” Louis asks during a song that neither of them seem to know particularly well. He has to shout above the music, and even then Harry just frowns and asks him to repeat himself. “ _Truthfully_ _what_!” He tries again. “In the shop earlier! You were talking about meeting my mum?” 

“Oh!” Harry nods, getting it. “I was talking about being a teacher actually! You guys make it easy for me to seem like I always know what I’m doing!” He laughs. “Truthfully, the whole thing makes me quite nervous! And I’ve…” Harry tugs Louis out the way of a particularly zealous dancer behind them. “And I’ve never really admitted that to myself, let alone anyone else. So…” He shrugs one shoulder, smiling a little. “Guess you’re special.”

Louis beams, pulling himself up to seal his mouth to Harry’s, fingers weaving up into his hair again. It’s his new favourite thing.

The music changes to a newer song, earning a few cheers from the happy crowd – including Louis who pulls away from Harry to do so - as the beat grows bass-heavy and rhythmic, and Louis can feel the effect of the beat in his bones.

Jade and Kevin have disappeared. Perrie is somewhere to their left with a bloke she met at the bar, and Zayn is somewhere else, Louis doesn’t really know.

As the song hits the chorus, Louis is grinning, and turning in Harry’s arms to face away from him. His hands are still behind Harry’s head, and he turns his head to the side as he starts to swivel his hips in time to the beat. Being a dancer, he’s never been one to go crazy in clubs, finding it hard to suppress the inner-choreographer in him and just let his body move without thinking. But somehow, with Harry flush at his back with his large hands on him, the movements are coming all of their own.

Harry is hot behind him and around him. One hand snakes across Louis’ lower stomach to help guide their hips into moving together and Louis smiles, tipping his head back against Harry’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

The music thumps in his chest, the semi-darkness of the dance floor swallowing them, and for a while, it feels like everything here is their own. The safety of the crowd and the dark and the music makes him feel invincible and free and _oh_ -

Harry has his mouth on him, kissing his parted lips along the line of Louis’ throat, the hand not on the flat of his stomach sliding up Louis’ side to his arm to his wrist where he strokes the sensitive skin there for a second before moving to hold him at the hip again – vaguely reminding Louis of a Dirty Dancing scene, for some reason. Then he’s spinning Louis around to face him again and pulling him in by his waist, mouth grinning crookedly and eyes wild.

Louis will always secretly have a thing for how Harry handles him. 

He smiles wider, hooking his arms further around Harry’s neck until he’s having to dance on his tiptoes. But it’s okay because Harry’s close enough to kiss now. 

This time, his mum isn’t around as Harry kisses him, and it turns filthy quite quickly, fuelled by the music and the dark and that insane _free_ feeling. Louis is suddenly ignoring whether he’s dancing in time or not, until he’s not actually dancing at all, and Harry’s mouth on his is all he can focus on, sighing with every brush Harry makes with his tongue. _God_ , his _tongue_. 

Louis could melt into this forever. Totally spellbound by this man. But too soon, Harry is pulling away, smiling.

“Let’s go back to the room for a bit.” He leans to speak straight into Louis’ ear, making sure he’s heard above the music.

Louis nods through the shivers that sparkle across his neck, and offers Harry a hand to take, leading them through the crowd and in the direction of the edge of the dance floor.

The music is a lot quieter back in the VIP room, and it leaves Louis’ ears ringing a little. He pulls Harry down onto the sofa – where Jade’s jacket and one of Zayn’s shoes have been flung for some unknown reason – and tips his head back against it, closing his eyes. 

“Is that a shoe?” Harry points across the room to where Zayn’s other shoe is by the bar, and Louis laughs, dropping his head back down again. 

//

Harry turns to look at Louis’, wondering why he didn’t answer, but when he finds him with his head tipped back like it is, eyes closed in drunk-happy bliss, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to get his mouth on Louis’ skin, and he ducks his head to leave a mark where the collar of Louis’ t-shirt is gaping by his collarbones. It earns Harry a soft mewl from the smaller man, which only spurs him into turning one mark into three.

He pulls back when a hand is pushing at his chest, and finds that Louis’ eyes are open again, blown dark and half-lidded, looking up at him from where he still has his head lolling against the back of the sofa. There’s a smile tugging at Louis’ mouth and when he realises Harry’s staring, he hums a laugh and bites his bottom lip.

Harry smiles, reaching to push some of Louis’ sweaty fringe away from his face.

“You look exhausted, baby.”

He doesn’t miss Louis’ complexion pinken at the pet name, and notes that little fact down for another time.

Louis eventually nods, giggling breathily and making to sit up. He reaches up to cup Harry’s jaw, sitting sideways on the sofa to face him, then brings him down to his level – clearly too tired to stretch up himself – and sucks Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth.

Harry complies to the silent request, nudging Louis’ mouth apart with his own and taking control of the kiss quite effortlessly. Louis really must be tired.

“I didn’t tell you…” Louis mumbles, words bumping his lips against Harry’s. “Zayn’s staying in Kevin’s room tonight.”

Something extremely pleasurable settles heavy in Harry’s gut at the implication Louis is lacing through those words, looking at him with pupils so blown they’re almost black.

“Lou-” He’s cut off by Louis mouthing at his jawline. He sighs, “… _Louis_ …” 

“Mmm…?” 

“Are you…” Harry swallows. “Are you asking me to stay in your room tonight?”

In the emptiness of the VIP room, the words feel too formal and too scripted. Harry doesn’t like them, but he needs to know what Louis really means.

He feels Louis smile against his neck, and then nod, hot little hands suddenly landing at the tops of his thighs, thumbs dangerously close the crease of his crotch. He swallows, his fuzzy mind compelling him to spread Louis out on this very sofa and litter him with marks until his mewls turn to gasps.

But he doesn’t move, and he stays silent, simply letting Louis’ sharp mouth mark him instead.

 

***

 

“Sssh! Fucks sake, Jade, it’s _my_ turn…” Louis grabs the empty vodka bottle out of Jade’s hands, earning himself a pout, and settles back between Harry’s legs once he’s spun it on the ground in the middle of the circle.

They ditched the club at around 2am, and decided to continue the celebration in Louis’ hotel room – “Golden Boy is hosting” – and after much persistence from the girls, they’re playing spin the bottle like the 13-year-olds they apparently are. 

Louis’ spin lands back on himself. 

“I’m taking that as Harry.” He announces, turning and plopping himself across Harry’s thighs.

“Of course you are.” He hears Zayn say behind him, but it’s through a chuckle. 

“Hello.” He murmurs, so close to Harry he might as well already be kissing him.

“Hello.” Harry replies, smirking, eyes dropping to Louis’ parted mouth.

Louis leans down slowly, barely, making Harry arch up a little for it and smirking against his mouth as he does. Then he eventually gives in, even suckling on Harry’s tongue until someone starts yelling at them both to round it up. 

Louis turns back around in Harry’s lap after he pulls away, more than a little bit proud that Harry is slightly hard when he settles back between his legs again. 

Harry presses his nose and mouth to the nape of Louis’ neck and Louis feels him suck in a deep lungful of air against his skin. He grins and wiggles back against him a little, earning a choked sound against his neck, which only makes him grin more.

Hmm. 

“Perrie’s turn!” He yells then, earning a chorus of “ _ssshhhh_!” and he giggles, slapping a hand over his mouth. 

Eventually, the game crawls to an end. Kevin is nodding off with his head tipped back against the wall, Zayn has ditched the game altogether to eat pizza he’d ordered from room service, Perrie and Jade are snapchatting each other, and Harry’s fingers are up under the hem of Louis’ t-shirt, stroking the skin of his lower stomach teasingly.

“Someone sort Kevin out, fucking hell.” Louis sighs, gesturing at the man and rolling his eyes. He hears Harry chuckle softly behind him.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Zayn closes the pizza box and shoves it down the side of the bin under the desk. “Sorry, Lou.”

Louis just shrugs, not really giving two shits about an empty pizza box, just wanting everyone besides Harry out of his room _right now_. 

“Think we’re gonna go too, LouLou.” Perrie sing-songs, standing up rather shakily and giggling at herself. “It’s been a fucking good night. Well done again, babes.” She manages to bend down to smack a kiss on Louis cheek, then moves to hook her arm through Jade’s and leads her – albeit wobbly - towards the door.

Louis gets up to show them out, catching himself when he nearly falls over the corner of one of the beds, earning a “careful” from Harry.

He continues waving until all four of them have disappeared down the corridor – Perrie blowing him one last kiss as they stumble close to the wall - before he slips the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outer handle and shuts the door, making sure to lock it too. 

He turns, expecting Harry to still be sat on the floor with the empty vodka bottle, but when he’s suddenly shoved back up against the door he’d just closed, he realises that Harry is a lot closer – and quieter – than he thought. Well then.

“ _Finally_.” Harry breathes against his lips, then captures Louis’ open mouth and growls.

That does something to Louis, and he whimpers when Harry’s strong leg comes to push his own legs apart, realising Harry is pressing it there for him to grind against.

 _Oh fuck_. 

His hips begin to move of their own accord, rolling to tilt his clothed cock up and against the blissful pressure of Harry’s thigh, again and _again_ and _again_. _Yes_. He pulls his mouth away from Harry’s so he can breathe, tipping his head back against the door and letting out a satisfied groan when Harry latches onto throat and starts to grind back against him.

He should’ve known how well they’d move together like this, they’re dancers – and dance _partners_ – for god’s sake.

Louis wets his lips.

Harry is breathing heavily, his hands coming to grab at Louis’ hips, then his bum, then his thighs, and then he’s bending to lift him, easy as anything.

_Fucking hell._

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, arms coming around his shoulders and he meets his eyes, blown pupils surrounded by tiny slivers of green. His mouth is pinker and fuller than usual too, and there’s a colour to his cheeks that Louis’ never seen before.

He kisses him to stop his brain from doing too much thinking, letting Harry carry him – with both hands unashamedly plastered to his arse cheeks to hold him up – and then he’s being dropped carefully onto the nearest bed.

He watches, up on his elbows and eyes half-lidded, as Harry moves to crawl over him. His gaping shirt falling to reveal that _fucking_ butterfly tattoo that Louis wants to bite. His abs contract as he moves up Louis’ body, biceps shifting as he holds himself above him and Louis bites his bottom lip at the sight. Harry’s hair is falling slightly into his own face - something Louis never knew he’d find so arousing until now - and he’s breathing through a parted mouth, his eyes trained on Louis, so dark and so full of intent that Louis nearly- 

“ ** _Ring—Ring… Ring—Ring…”_**

Both men just freeze at first, then in sync, Harry looks over at the phone on the desk and Louis cranes his head up to look too.

“What. The _fuck_.” Louis says, annoyingly hard in his jeans as Harry lifts an arm so he’s no longer caged in, and he swings his legs off the bed to go and answer it. “If this is fucking Perrie, I swear to fuck…” He picks it up and pops his hip. “Hello?” His face drops. “Oh, hi Madam Charee… Err…”

Harry, who’d lounged onto his side on the bed, watching Louis and smirking at the state he’s in, sits bolt upright.

“You want to know where Harry is? Um… Is he not in the room with you then?” Louis screws his eyes shut and bares his teeth. “No? No, I haven’t seen him.” Louis’ eyes widen when Harry starts to stand from the bed. Madam Charee is still chattering away in his ear as Harry stalks closer, smirking. Louis shoots him a warning look as he begins to back away. “Oh, yeah that’s a good idea… No, everyone’s gone to bed now. Sorry if we were noisy when we got back.” He glares as Harry continues approaching him, running out of room to move with the phone attached to the base by its wire. “Yeah… okay. Alright, bye. Yep, bye…” He quickly darts to slam the phone down, making sure it’s definitely hung up before Harry’s hands are cradling his head and pulling him into a toe-tingling kiss. 

“Mmph…Harr-y…” Louis stumbles, and Harry stumbles with him, before Louis goes to push him off so he can speak. “She’s gone looking for you. She told me she heard us all come back and was waiting for you to come back to the room, but seeing as you haven’t, she’s gone to try and find you.” He explains, sighing. “She says she needs to make sure she knows where you are in case one of the students needs you for something.”

Harry sighs too, running a hand through his hair.

“Fucking hell…” Louis sighs again when he realises Harry’s going to have to back to his room with Madam Charee instead of stay the night with him. “We’re both still fully dressed, for fucks sake.”

Harry chuckles and lets out a breath, stepping forward and wrapping Louis up in his arms.

“And I so wanted to see that bum of yours, too.” 

Louis heats up.

“How very objectifying, Harry. I’m not sure I like that.” He says, though he’s blushing and he knows Harry can tell.

They both sigh again, then Harry laughs, and Louis smiles. 

“It’s probably best, to be honest,” Harry begins, “Can you imagine if she’d phoned while we were actually-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Louis laughs, but then Harry’s mouth is back on his throat and his laughter dies out into shaky breathing, his voice only just touching his vocal chords and resulting in the tiniest moans he’s ever heard himself make.

“ ** _Ring—Ring… Ring—Ring…_** ” 

Louis’ head tips back against the wall with a thud. Defeat. 

Harry laughs a little and collapses forward, dropping his forehead to Louis’ shoulder. Defeat. 

“I’d better let you go then.” Louis says, and Harry nods, stepping back from Louis a little reluctantly, and then moving towards the door. He mouths ‘goodnight’ and blows a kiss once he’s unlocked it. Then, with a small wave, he ducks through and closes it again behind him. 

Louis picks up the phone.

“Yeah, Madam Charee, he’s on his way to you now.” He barely conceals his annoyance. “Yep. Okay, goodnight. Yeah. Night night.”

He puts the phone down again and moves to fall back onto one of the beds, staring at the ceiling and laughing in self-pity.

Well then.

 


	19. XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After such a rollercoaster of a weekend, returning to class on Monday feels incredibly dull. Tuesday turns out to be a little more eventful though...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's technically Thursday. (2am UK time, yay. I can't feel my eyes.) But this chapter is so important, I desperately needed to get it right. After rewriting it four times, I really hope you like it. Let me know!
> 
> \- Iris x

Returning to the studio on Monday feels like a sharp slap in the face.

Louis takes a coffee with him in an old takeaway mug he’d found at the back of the teabag cupboard. (Yes, he has a cupboard devoted to teabags, because everyone deserves to devote at least one cupboard’s-worth amount of space in their home to something they adore, thank you.) The reason he takes _coffee_ this morning though, is because crashing back to his usual routine feels far too boring and normal to what he experienced over the weekend, so jazzing things up with an instant latte is his best attempt at rectifying that.

“Man of the hour!” Kevin cries as Louis pushes through the doors of the changing room.

Louis laughs, “The hour you’re referring to happened two days ago, Kev. But cheers.” He raises his coffee to the other dancer with a nod, and then takes a sip.

 

***

 

If simply returning to classes felt like the smack of a thousand palms to his face – okay so, coffee makes him exaggerate – then the way Harry chooses to handle today’s lesson is like he’s been flat out knocked to the ground and Monday is _still_ beating him to a pathetic pulp. 

“And _go_! _Eschappé_ , in, _relevé_ , down- and kneel – watch your turnout, stretch those _feet_! …. Okay! Let’s go, and- lean, and _up_! Really stretch that over- don’t move too early! Watch your timing, guys! Come _on_!”

Harry is shouting. Full-on _shouting_ at them, and every time he speaks in time with the steps they should be dancing, he punctuates each word with a sharp clap. He’s chosen to dive straight into production rehearsals today – after stretches and a warm-up, thankfully – and Louis, despite himself, finds that he misses their usual stamina routine. 

“To the front! Lift it! Good, and down! And run- don’t go too _early_ Jade!” Harry yells over the music, and then lets out an exasperated sigh, bringing a hand up to push across his forehead.

Harry is really on it today. His energy hasn’t dropped since class started and his volume level has remained at a constant high, as has it attention to technical detail. If Louis didn’t know better, he’d be convinced Harry thought the production was next _week_ , not February. He’s barking his criticisms straight at each perpetrator, something Louis has never noticed him do before. Jade looks mortified as she continues dancing, cheeks red and eyes downcast.

“Lift those eye-lines!” Harry snaps immediately, though Louis notes this time that he doesn’t address his remark straight at the girl in question. Louis glances over to find that Jade looks relieved at that. Okay, so maybe he’s reigning it in a little now that he’s realised his comments could-

“Heads front! Louis!”

Louis snaps his head to gape at his teacher; brow furrowed, both surprised and a little offended, though he’s not sure why. Harry notices his expression and simply shakes his head.

“Don’t look at me, you should be concentrating on what you’re doing, not on Jade. You’ll get distracted.” He barks, then raises both eyebrows, reprimanding. “See? You should be down here by now-” Harry is pointing to an empty spot next to Zayn, who looks confused at the absence of his partner, and Louis sucks in a breath as he quickly moves over so he’s in the right place again and all caught up with the music. “Good.” Harry nods at him once he gets there, and Louis makes sure not to do _that_ again. Because, _Jesus_.

“Now take this lift a bit slower, boys.” Harry instructs them as Zayn takes a secure hold of Louis’ waist and gently lifts him, Louis’ legs forming a neat _arabesque_ _penché_ in the air, the higher leg perfectly extending in a vertical line with the lower. Louis’ back arches deeply and he feels the now-familiar ache at the small of his spine, but it means his legs are in the right places. Good.

“Beautiful.” Harry seems to agree, flashing them both a short smile before darting off to see to the swans’ _tableau_ behind them.

“Do I have permission to hit him or?” Louis mutters, earning a huffed laugh from Zayn as they hold the lift for a few more seconds. Then their counts are up and Louis is lowered to the ground again to execute his next movement.

“I’m not sure it’s _morally_ correct?” Zayn begins, letting Louis complete his _couru_ steps, travelling around Zayn’s body in a circle. His fingers grip a hand that Zayn has extended up above his head as he does, providing The Swan with support. “But I mean, I’m kind of compelled to let you? He’s on something today.” He shakes his head, briefly turning to watch the man in question as he addresses their fellow dancers.

“Okay, and _sissone_ _ferme_! That’s _ferme_ , Perrie! Legs should land closed!” Harry instructs the swans behind them and Louis exchanges a look with Zayn as he moves away from him with an _assemble_ _soutenu_. Sweeping his right leg in a tight circle in front of himself until it meets his left, he uses the momentum to turn smoothly on the balls of his feet. Zayn has the same step at the same time, and it swoops The Prince and The Swan away from one another, arms coming up above their heads as they do. It shows a rare moment of similarity between the man and the bird. 

Louis likes that part. 

“And really beat that leg, Kevin! Try and give that more elevation next time too, I know it’s Monday but really…” Harry is shaking his head again and Louis wants to smooth out the tight crease in his forehead. He looks incredibly stressed. “You should be off stage by now, Ruby, you were the first group to run, weren’t you?” Harry asks through another sigh, “ _Please_ remember your group numbers, swans! I haven’t the time nor the patience to re-choreograph or re-teach this!”

Louis and Zayn exchange another look as they continue their duet part, and then Louis is _pirouetting_ back across the stage, ending in amongst his fellow swans again. With each turn, he makes sure to use Zayn as a spotting mark, whipping his head back to him with every spin. Harry hasn’t told him to, but he feels it’s a good thing to add. It helps imply that The Swan wants to stay with The Prince. Zayn raises his eyebrows and nods a little when Louis has finished his turns, impressed and obviously agreeing that it’s a nice touch.

After a few group _battement_ _en_ _cloche_ to express excitement amongst those remaining on stage - excluding Zayn, who’s positioned in a neat lunge, watching them jump up and down – the last few birds _soubresaut_ into the wings – or rather, the plastic chairs currently set up to resemble wings – leaving only The Swan and The Prince on stage. 

That’s all they’ve rehearsed so far, and so Louis stands there, feet still held tightly in fifth position, chest heaving. He tilts his head to flash a silly grin at Zayn, causing him to laugh through his own heavy breathing. 

“Okay! Good! Everyone in!” Harry stops the music with his remote and gestures for everyone to group together in front of him.

“I have to admit…” He pushes a hand through his fringe, and then pulls a hair tie off of his wrist and ties his hair up as he continues talking, “I’ve seen it much better. Much, much better. _But_.” He drops his arms again, hair now in a tight bun, and rests his hands low on his hips. Louis lets his eyes linger there for a few seconds before looking back up at Harry’s face again. He doesn’t even feel guilty about it. Which- 

“It’s gonna look _really_ good.” Harry is still talking. “We just need to be careful with timing, and in a few cases, our technicality isn’t as strong as it could be. There’s been a few dodgy _petite_ _jetés_ today, I know it’s because it’s at a fast point in the dance and the choreography is still fairly new to you there, but you all know that _petite_ _jetés_ really should be neatly _sur le cou-de-pied_ – those of you who _aren’t_ awake this morning, that means the pointed toes should rest against the base of the calf muscle of your supporting leg. Not halfway up it.” He clarifies, lifting his own ballet-tights-clad leg and pointing at that spot below his calf.

Louis admires the definition of the muscle below white cotton as Harry instinctively points his foot the second it’s raised off of the ground.

“Some were really all over the place just now.” Harry is then continuing, standing on two feet again and Louis very nearly pouts. “I’m gonna give you guys the benefit of the doubt,” Harry raises his voice now, hands readjusting themselves on his waist again. “-and chalk it up to the fact most of us have had a long weekend.” Louis doesn’t miss Harry’s eyes flick to him for a second, and he hopes he hasn’t been caught ogling Harry’s slender fingers. “I’m hoping it’ll be much more polished on Friday, because believe me, we’re doing it again on Friday. This is only the third of a possible _twenty_ group routines, guys. We need to get moving through them.”

After that, Harry dismisses them to get changed, and Louis keeps himself to one side until most of the others have left. He watches Harry as he waits. The taller man is still frowning to himself as he shuts down the music system and sits to pull his ballet shoes off. Louis’ mind wanders as Harry slips his feet out of the black leather and rolls his ankles a few times. He hopes there’s nothing too troubling whirling its way around Harry’s mind right now. It’s not like Harry would necessarily _need_ to tell Louis if there _was_ , but. Still. Louis hopes he would. He hopes, even if it’s just a little bit, that Harry would choose to confide in him if he needed someone to listen. Maybe.

The studio empties relatively quickly, and once Louis is pretty much the only one left besides Harry himself, he makes his way across the floor towards the taller man. Harry is facing away from him, slightly hunched over his unzipped dance bag as he tucks his shoes away inside, so he doesn’t see him approaching. 

“Hey.”

Harry turns his head over his shoulder and Louis feels something in his chest shift when his eyes meet that now-familiar green, all up close and lovely. (He hasn’t been this close to the man since class started, okay? And Harry’s eyes have always had this strange effect on him. It’s, whatever.)

Harry isn’t turned all the way around, but it’s enough. Louis reaches to take him by his wrists, moving Harry’s arms out of his dance bag and wrapping them around himself, then, once happy that Harry’s holding him, he slides his own up and around Harry’s neck, craning up to place a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“What’s that for?” Harry asks, but his frown has softened a little and his arms have tightened around Louis’ middle. It makes Louis’ insides buzz gently and he smiles warmly up at the taller man. 

“Just felt you might need it.” He answers softly with a shrug. “You seem tense.” 

Harry sighs – for like the billionth time today, really - dropping his hold on Louis and turning back to zip up his bag.

“I just want it to look really good. I _know_ you can all do it, it’s just-”

“And we will. It’ll look amazing, I know it will.” Louis says, earning himself a surprised look. “What?” 

Harry’s smiling a little.

“Nothing. Just…” He pauses, not breaking his gaze from Louis’ eyes as his smile grows. “It’s nice to hear you have faith in them. I think you all need that, to be honest. A bit of _faith_ in each other.” Louis practically hears the cogs in Harry’s head start turning. “You need to know you can rely on one another while you’re dancing. Maybe we should do some sort of team-building-”

“Hah, _no_.” Louis cuts him off, lifting a hand. “None of that team-building nonsense. Harry, we’re _fine_.” He tries to sound as reassuring as possible, pushing out a gentle laugh, hoping to coax one out of Harry too. “I think we just… I don’t know. It’s been a bit of an off day, maybe. We’ve just got to keep at it. As much as today has knackered me out completely – thanks for that by the way, I’m supposed to be picking up a shift at Vans this afternoon,” Louis shoots him a look, “ _But_ … as much as today has knocked us all for six, I think it’s what we _need_. We need constant, I don’t know, _you_.” Louis gestures to Harry, who’s frown forms high on his forehead.

“Without, like, telling you how to do your job…” Louis continues, “You need to keep this level of strictness up, I think. It just works. It keeps people on their toes.” Louis says, then grins and pushes himself up onto the balls of his feet. “Literally.”

Harry huffs lightly, smiling, then nods. Then he blinks and frowns instead, bringing his thumb up to bite as his nail absently.

 _Wow. He really has got a lot on his mind_.

“Just don’t let it stress you out as much as it has today.” Louis lifts a hand to pull Harry’s thumb away from his mouth, sliding his fingers between Harry’s instead and squeezing gently. “You’re gonna make yourself ill, Harry, god.” A stray curl dances at the side of Harry’s face and Louis reaches to tuck it behind his ear for him. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” Harry nods, then chuckles a little, catching Louis’ eye contact. “I feel like we’ve reversed our roles a bit here.” 

“ _Ooh_ , do I get to be the responsible adult and tell _you_ what to do?” Louis grins, eyes mischievous, and steps a bit closer. 

“Let’s just-”

“Louis! Get your arse in this changing room and out of that unitard right now else we’re going to Nando’s without you!” Perrie is suddenly shouting from across the studio, leaning against the doorway to the changing room with her arms folded.

“Alright, Pez, two secs.” Louis calls over his shoulder, then turns back to Harry. “Go home and have a bath or something? Yeah? And text me.” He pokes him in the chest, earning himself a light laugh, then bumps himself up onto his toes to press another kiss to Harry’s mouth before grinning and jogging backwards. He winks, then turns to fully run across the studio towards Perrie. 

Harry grins at the floor.

“You joining us, Teach?” Perrie calls once Louis meets her.

Louis watches Harry flick his eyes towards him, and he sends him a proper smile. 

“I’m probably gonna head home for lunch actually, Perrie. My bath is calling me. But thank you for the offer.” Harry nods, eyes warm.

“Anytime.” Perrie replies. “And I’ll keep working on my _sissone_ _ferme_ , by the way. It’s always been a step I’ve struggled with, so I guess I’ve just got to keep trying.”

Harry nods again, approving, and Louis squeezes Perrie’s waist, grateful, before he ducks into the changing room.

 

***

 

"I feel like I’ve missed at _least_ a week’s worth of EastEnders episodes. And I abso-fucking-lutely _demand_ the omnibus. _Right_. _Now_.”

Louis has literally only just stepped through the shop doorway, but Niall is crouched just inside, sorting out the front window display. So what Louis _thought_ was going to be at least five minutes of freedom before facing the blonde, turned out to be not even five _seconds_.

“Niall.” He chuckles, figuring that the best thing is to keep laughing. “Look, I promise to fill you in, but can I please put my stuff down and put the kettle on first? My legs are _on_ _fire_.”

Niall lifts one shoulder, straightening a pair of shoes on their display box. 

“I’ll be here.” He says, then waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder.

“Don’t be difficult, I brought you Nando’s.” As expected, this earns Louis a beaming grin. “And I’m on tills first so come and find me when you’re done.” He drops the Nando’s bag by Niall’s crouched form, then heads further into the shop, laughing when the Irishman lets out a “ _fucking_ _aye!_ ” from behind him. 

He’s quick to fix himself a cup of tea, leisurely taking the first few sips leaning against the staff room counter and doing a few ankle exercises. It relieves some tension in the joints, but his pains are mainly muscular. Maybe he’ll take his own advice to Harry and fix himself a bath later too. Maybe even add some bath salts or something. White Jasmine has always been a good scent to bathe in.

“Ugh…” He groans, tipping his head back, able to practically _feel_ the luscious warm water lapping at his feet as he daydreams. 

He’s got to get through a six-hour shift first.

With a sigh, he takes his cup of tea out onto the shop floor and sets it down on a little shelf below the counter, then goes about ringing up a waiting customer, painting on his best Service Smile.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, love.”

 

***

 

“I could’ve bloody written this. I _told_ you this would end with you banging each other’s brains out! Didn’t I tell-”

“ _Niall_! Fucking hell!” Louis exclaims, his eyes darting about the shop to check that no customers overheard that. He’s especially glad Sean isn’t in today. For that, and also because he’s currently sat on the shop counter, bare feet resting on the little shelf underneath. His legs are even worse than they were when this morning’s class finished, _and_ he had to crouch down for almost an hour, rearranging the front window display because Niall had written the word ‘cock’ out of shoes. So really, he deserves to sit down. 

“Nah, mate.” Niall is shaking his head, grinning. “This is great; this is… I mean, I _totally_ called it. But putting that aside, I’m happy for you, mate. I just… Listening to you go on and on about how much he pissed you off _was_ getting a little bit old, if I’m honest. Not to mention more and more forced. So it’ll make a nice change. But… yeah.” Niall is totaling up the till beside him – probably poorly given that he’s not paying proper attention – but he’s grinning to himself. “ _Totally_ fucking called it.”

“Yeah, alright, you called it.” Louis gives in, rolling his eyes. “So… there you go. You wanted the ‘omnibus’ or whatever-the-fuck you were on about. There. Now you’re fully up to date. Basically.”

Niall is still grinning as he piles ten-pound-notes beside the till.

“So. What’s it like?”

Louis’ got his phone out now, and frowns, not really paying attention.

“What’s what like?”

“The banging each other’s brains out! If I’m gonna get the credit for predicting this shit since the beginning, then I want the details too. If I ever _do_ write this, I wanna get it right. Bouncy Bed Game and all.”

Louis grimaces.

“Niall, that’s both really fucking intrusive and also a bit, just, generally rude? Honestly. And, even if I _did_ want to - which I really fucking don’t - I’d have a hard time giving you the details you’re asking for anyway, seeing as Harry and I-”

“Are you closed or can I quickly grab something?”

Louis frowns, turning his head quickly at the sound of the familiar voice. Upon confirming his suspicions, his face breaks into a genuine smile.

“Hi.”

Harry’s standing in front of the counter, which is why Louis didn’t see him before – maybe sitting with his back to the shop _isn’t_ such a good idea – and he’s dressed in his usual tight jeans, but with a soft mint-green jumper that makes him look a bit like a human-shaped scoop of ice cream. His hair is a little bit damp – he obviously did have a bath earlier then – and it’s beginning to curl where it frames his face. His eyes, as ever, are warm and inviting, and he’s smiling, plush pink lips stretched in that same crooked way they always do when he thinks he’s being clever. 

“Oh my god, Harry, what are you doing here?” Louis laughs, swiveling on his bum and swinging his aching legs over the counter to drop down in front of the taller man.

“So, _this_ is the mysterious Harry Styles? Well,” Niall leans around to meet Harry’s startled eyes. “I can certainly see why he had a hard time staying mad at you.” 

“What?” Harry chuckles, frowning down at Louis.

“Nothing, that’s Niall, he’s a dickhead. What are you doing here?” Louis changes the subject by repeating his question. 

Harry grins and scoops Louis’ smaller hands up in his giant ones.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight? I was really stressy and awful this morning, and I regret that the only time I got to see you today was spent with me in such a _mood_.” 

“Harry, it’s oka-” 

“No, hear me out, Lou. It shouldn’t have been up to you to have come over and give me a bloody pep talk, and I just felt bad about it. And a bit silly. I mean, I’m glad that you care,” he lifts a hand out of Louis’ to cradle the smaller man’s face affectionately and it makes Louis feel warm all over, “-of course I am. But still. I just feel a bit guilty, that’s all, I don’t… I don’t really know exactly why?” He chuckles. “But I thought we could do something this evening so that we can forget about all that? Maybe?”

Louis’ concerned frown is blending with a touched smile and it probably makes his face look a bit confused more than anything. He mentally shakes himself and leans into Harry’s hand, then nods.

“Yeah, I’d like that. What did you have in mind?” 

Harry glances over at Niall - who’s unabashedly leaning with his chin cradled in his hands, looking every bit like he’s watching his favourite Disney princess movie – and whatever he was about to say clearly needs a rethink at what he sees. He meets Louis’ eyes again and moves the hand on Louis’ cheek down to smooth his long fingers gently around the side of Louis’ neck instead, his palm coming to rest just beneath the hinge of his jaw and his fingertips applying slight pressure on his nape. It feels ever-so-slightly possessive, and it brings Louis out in goosebumps and makes him feel all hot at the same time. Harry’s next words don’t help either. 

“Come back to mine?”

Louis swallows so thickly that he’s sure Harry feels it under his hand, and his breath quickens just a touch at the way Harry’s eyes are on him.

“I finish in about ten minutes.” Louis says, though no one actually asked and he immediately feels like an idiot, so he adds, “If you don’t mind waiting?”

Harry nods, lips curling into another smile, and he uses the hand at Louis’ neck to bring his head forward so he can kiss him on the forehead.

“Of course not. I’ll let you close up.”

“Wait,” Louis stops him, just as Harry’s dropped his hand and started to turn to leave, “Didn’t you say you wanted to grab something?”

Harry smirks, eyes flicking to Niall and back again.

“I did. And in ten minutes’ time I’ll be happily leaving with that something.” His smirk grows into a grin. “Or rather, some _one_.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, refraining from telling Harry just how awful that actually was, and just shakes his head at him instead. 

“Go on, Casanova. I’ll meet you outside in a bit.”

Harry winks, waves goodbye to Niall after telling him it was nice to “sort-of” meet him, and disappears out the doorway.

And if Louis follows, choosing that moment to lock up the front doors and stealing a quick – proper – kiss before he does so, then no one needs to know.

 

***

 

Roughly an hour or so later, Louis is feeling a thousand times better, reclined on Harry’s lush pleather sofa, a half-empty glass of wine in his right hand and his left arm thrown across his eyes to block out the light from Harry’s living room lamps. It _would_ be one-hundred-percent relaxing if it weren’t for the tendrils of pain that shoot down his legs every few minutes.

“Oi, scooch over.” Harry appears with his own glass of wine and prods at Louis’ shins with his free hand.

Louis obliges, but it’s not without some grumbling as lifting his legs multiplies the pain significantly. Once he’s swiveled them enough for Harry to sit down, he promptly plonks them back where they were, feet landing in Harry’s lap with another few grunts of discomfort. 

“Are they really bad tonight?” Harry asks, beginning to stroke across the top of one of Louis’ feet immediately.

Louis nods, grimacing as he sits up and props a cushion behind himself with one hand. He takes a generous sip of his wine.

“Yeah, I think it’s today’s rehearsals on top of the competition and… I haven’t really given them a rest since, like, early last week, come to think of it. I probably shouldn’t be this surprised that they’re aching like they are.”

Harry hums thoughtfully, takes a sip of his own drink, then leans forward across Louis’ legs to put his glass down on the coffee table opposite.

“Can I…” He begins, both hands finding Louis’ feet now, “offer you a hot bath followed by a massage?”

“ _Oh my god_ , _I would love you forever_.” Louis breathes, too taken by Harry’s offer to care that much about his wording. “Would you really?” 

Harry smiles, nodding, and then gently moves Louis’ legs off of him so he can stand up. He takes Louis’ wine glass out of his hands – Louis only whimpers at the loss a little, because he then realises that Harry plans to carry him to the bathroom, which. Yes.

It makes them both laugh, Harry padding through from his lounge to his hallway to his bedroom with Louis in his arms like a tailless mermaid, hanging onto Harry’s neck for more support. And it’s not that Louis has a size kink. Like, most people he’s ever dated have been taller than him, it was mostly always a given. But the way Harry can lift him so effortlessly – even when it’s also purely for dance-related reasons, Louis’ll admit – it does sort of ignite something in Louis a little bit. Just a little. 

That’s probably why he tips Harry’s chin up with his knuckle once they make it to bathroom – before Harry can put him down – and kisses him perhaps a little more thoroughly than currently appropriate. 

“Louis… I’ve already had a bath today…” Harry breathes when Louis finally pulls back, their mouths damp and breath hot.

“ _Monsieur Styles_ , are you implying that you _don’t_ wish to join me?” 

Okay. The wine has very much gone to his head. Actually, he probably should’ve eaten before they started drinking. That’s a very good point indeed.

Harry chuckles against Louis’ mouth, then slowly sets him down onto the tiled floor. His arms stay wrapped around him though, keeping Louis close.

“Get undressed,” he instructs against his mouth, “I’ll fetch you some towels and a change of clothes.” 

And then he’s gone, leaving Louis feeling suddenly very cold in the large bathroom, legs still pounding horrendously, and, yes, he’ll admit, feeling more than a little bit aroused.

 

***

 

Harry wasn’t even joking, is the thing. He genuinely doesn’t join Louis in the bath. But he does stay in the bathroom with him, sitting on the closed toilet lid after he’s pulled out various bubble baths and bath salts and eventually – once Louis reluctantly decides on Gingerlily at the absence of White Jasmine – switches to pulling out various massage oils and ointments, and the very reminder of what is following his bath has Louis sinking deeper into the water with pleasure. He can already feel Harry’s beautiful hands on him.

As Harry sits and sorts through what he’s retrieved from the cupboard, Louis positions himself in the bath so that the bubbles come right up to his neck, everything submerged – even his arms – and totally succumbs to the warmth and comfort surrounding him. Already his legs are easing up a little, the heat from the water helping the strained and spasmed muscles to relax and loosen. He closes his eyes as Harry sorts through various bottles and tubs, his deep baritone echoing beautifully off of the tile walls, the acoustics of the bathroom lending themselves to help Harry’s voice become so soothing that Louis feels like he might as well be bathing in that too; his limbs floating on Harry’s timbre, sinking into the warmth of his familiar, unhurried speech pattern. Every time Harry asks Louis to choose between one scent or another, his voice pulls Louis further into bliss, until eventually, Louis can only hum in reply to what he’s asking him. After a few more questions go answered only by that and no speech, Harry stops asking, and instead settles for humming a nonsensical tune that Louis doesn’t recognise.

He has no idea how long he’s in the bath for, and all too soon Harry is crouched beside it, pulling his fingers through Louis’ damp hair and causing little bursts of tingly pleasure to dance down the nape of Louis’ neck. He thinks wine and a heavenly bath like this might just be his favourite combination. That is, besides Harry’s voice and Harry’s hands and Harry’s mouth and- Yeah. 

“Mmmm…” Louis hums, mouth curving into a dopey smile that has Harry chuckling softly.

“Ready to get out now, my little Water Baby?”

Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, and that, combined with his words, only serves in pulling Louis a tiny bit further into his uber-relaxed gooey puddle of existence. 

Harry chuckles again when he gets no answer. 

“Come on, Lou, let’s get you out and dry.” He says, and then he’s helping Louis to stand – albeit on shaky, still semi-painful legs – and supporting him as he gingerly steps over the edge of the bath and onto an awaiting towel. Harry is so good.

The taller man wraps another, fluffier towel around his shivering shoulders and plants a kiss to his wet hairline. Then he’s guiding Louis out of the bathroom.

There’re more towels spread out across the double bed below the window, and streetlight floods inside the large-ish room, illuminating both the towels and the bedding a golden yellow.

Harry sets Louis down on the edge of the bed, then quickly closes the blinds and switches on both bedside lamps. 

Immediately, Louis feels like he’s been laid out on a cloud, all his muscles welcoming the soft support of the mattress. It must be memory-foam or something. How has he not noticed this before? He tips back to lay down and sucks in a pleased breath, feeling himself relax further into the bedding.

“I’m just going to pull the bath plug, Lou, then I’ll be back.” Harry murmurs somewhere to his left. “The massage things are ready on the bedside table. How do your legs feel now?”

Louis chances stretching his feet to point his toes, his knees come just over the edge of the bed as he extends his legs to test his muscles gently. He winces. It’s still painful, but nowhere near as unbearable as it was before his bath. He let his legs drop again, much preferring not to use them right now, to be honest.

“They’re better than they were.” He eventually answers, voice coming out faint and light. 

He can hear the gentle smile in Harry’s voice when he replies. 

“Okay, good. I’ll be right back.”

//

When Harry returns, he’s expecting Louis to be laid out on the towels, ready for his massage and probably with some sort of comment about Harry keeping him waiting on his lips. What he’s _not_ expecting, is to find the smaller man still on his back, one arm up by his head and the other thrown lazily across his bare stomach. His breathing is even and steady as Harry watches his chest rise and fall in the lamplight, and he smiles fondly as he switches off the ensuite light and makes his way over to the bed. 

He carefully dries Louis off, trying his best not to disturb him, then covers him from neck to toes with a larger bath towel, and brings a pillow down to rest under his head.

Harry then strips himself down to his underwear after turning off both bedside lamps, and climbs under the duvet beside the smaller man. Louis’ head comes up just below Harry’s his armpit with where he’s situated on the bed, and Harry uses this to make sure he can keep his arm loosely above Louis, bent at the elbow to place his hand loosely at the round of Louis’ shoulder. It’s the closest he can get to wrapping himself around him. So he settles for that quite happily.

 

***

 

When Louis wakes, the first thing he registers is that he’s cold.

With a grumble, he rubs his face into the pillow beneath his cheek and sucks in his first proper breath of the day.

The second thing he registers is that he can smell food frying.

Louis slowly sits up, confused for a second as to why he’s naked… He’s sure he and Harry never- Oh yeah. Bath. _Mmm_ , that was a good bath. But-

Shit. He never got his massage.

Louis has never felt like physically kicking himself more than in that very moment. How could he possibly have fallen asleep when he had the promise of Harry’s gorgeous hands all over him to stay awake for? Fucking shit. _Ugh_. 

Feeling extremely pissed off at himself, he gets up off of the bed and opts to wrap a towel around his waist so he can go and find the source of the smell sooner. And hopefully find Harry along with it.

Sure enough, Harry is standing at the hob in his kitchen, tilting something around in a frying pan with a metal spatula in his other hand. There’s a carton of eggs on the counter to Harry’s left, and what looks like a dish of fresh tomatoes next to those.

Louis admires the round of Harry’s bum in nothing but his underwear, and how the elasticated legs fit snugly around the shape of his toned, dancer's thighs. The wide expanse of back looks delectable, his shoulder blades shifting beneath his pale skin as he lifts and tilts the frying pan about. The rounds of his deltoids look more prominent than usual, and the trim line of his hips contrast beautifully. If Louis could draw, he’d want to draw this image so he could keep it forever.

Wordlessly, he comes up behind Harry to wrap his arms around his waist, pressing his mouth to the back of his shoulder and relishing in his body heat.

“M’sorry I fell asleep.” He mumbles into Harry’s skin, and Harry’s deep chuckle reverberates through to Louis’ lips.

“You don’t need to apologise, Lou. You did say how tired you were.” He replies, plonking the frying pan down onto the hob with a soft clank. “Omelette? I’ve not started them yet, I wasn’t sure what you wanted in yours.”

“Mmm… m’not really hungry…” Louis closes his eyes, breathing in an indulgent lungful of Harry’s sleepy scent. To add more context to his words, he lets his hands drop a little lower on Harry’s stomach, delighted to feel the muscles jump under his touch. He huffs a pleased breath out against the taller man’s shoulder, and opens his mouth to lightly graze his teeth against Harry’s skin.

Harry has turned the off the heat and spun around in his arms before Louis has to say any more. He’s smiling as he brings his hands up to run his fingers through Louis’ hair, pushing it back off of his face and meeting his eyes.

“How’re your legs this morning?”

Louis returns the smile and relishes in the feel of Harry’s hands in his hair.

“A little sore, but much better. That bath was amazing. I never thanked you, did I?” Louis replies, smoothing his hands up the dip of Harry’s waist and over the base of his ribs. 

Harry’s mouth quirks.

“I can think of a way you can thank me.”

And then Harry bends a little to secure his arms under Louis’ towel-covered thighs.

“Hold on to me.” He instructs. Which Louis just- Well, yes.

His hands come up around Harry’s neck immediately, and then Harry lifts him, carrying him easily back towards the bedroom. He obviously doesn’t miss the new colour to Louis’ cheeks as he does, because he starts grinning the second he locks eyes on Louis properly again. 

“Do you like being carried?” He teases, clearly enjoying the way it makes Louis blush and tuck his face into Harry’s neck to avoid looking at him. “Hey, I don’t mind. I’m pretty well-practiced at carrying you, wouldn’t you say?” 

Louis nods into his neck and Harry turns his head to press a kiss to the top of Louis’ shoulder before he’s setting him down on the bed again.

Louis, the clever little shit that he is – he’s genuinely quite impressed with own stroke of genius - doesn’t let go of Harry’s neck, and it means the taller man has no choice but to hover the length of his body over him, catching his weight on his hands. He smirks down at Louis, clearly also a little impressed at the action.

“Cheeky.” 

Louis just bites his lip and grins. 

“Now, honestly, Lou. Are you sure about your legs? The offer of a massage is still on the-”

“ _Yes_ , Harry.” Louis rolls his eyes and cards his fingers up into Harry’s hair. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about my legs right now, honestly.” He says, then as if to prove his point, removes one hand from Harry’s neck to snake it down over the expanse of his bare throat and chest until he finds a nipple, and gently tweaks it.

//

Harry’s eyes flutter shut a little bit and when he hears how it makes Louis hum like he’s pleased with himself, he can’t hold back any longer. He’s got this beautiful, bright young man spread out – practically naked and still smelling of bath salts, somehow– beneath him, and all he wants to do is get his mouth on him before yet another interruption stops this happening again.

He’s still not over Saturday night. 

With a feathery growl, he ducks his head to Louis’ golden chest, sucking defined marks into his collarbones and making the smaller man preen beneath his mouth, arching up into the touch. 

Finally. _Finally_.

He takes his sweet time as he works his way down Louis’ writhing body, hands caressing at the dips of the smaller man’s curved waist, until his chin meets the top of the towel and he chances a glance up at Louis through dark lashes.

Louis is looking down at him in much the same way, eyes blown and hooded and hair a fluffy mess on the duvet, breathing quickly. He smiles at Harry and Harry feels it burn low in his gut.

_Oh god, finally._

He continues his hands’ journey downwards, meeting the bottom of the towel and slowly dipping his fingers beneath it to torturously slide it up Louis’ thighs. 

Louis rolls up into the touch, head straining back and letting the curve of his neck be bathed in golden light from the morning sun through a gap in the blinds. Harry sort of wants to pinch himself.

“What do you want, baby?”

Louis preens again. He lets out a caught moan and shifts again under Harry’s touch, but doesn’t answer.

“Hmm?” Harry prompts, fingers now working at the knot of the towel, letting his knuckles brush teasingly against the lowest part of Louis’ abdomen. Eventually the towel falls open, and Harry is quick to move it out of the way completely. He settles his thumbs into the dips where Louis’ thighs meet his groin, and strokes the skin there a few times. It’s hot and obviously sensitive as the touch has Louis whining a little.

“ _Fuck_ … such a tease…” He bites out, glaring at Harry for a few seconds before dropping his head back down onto the bed again.

Harry hums a light laugh. 

“Okay, baby, sorry.” He murmurs, and, ignoring the tightness in his belly at the sight, finally focuses his attention on Louis’ length.

He’s gentle with his kisses and determined with his tongue, all the while pulling the most gorgeous sounds from the man further up the bed.

“ _Oh_ … Harr- _fuck_ -” Louis breathes, fingers grasping for Harry’s hair and holding on tightly. “ _God_ , your mouth…” 

Harry makes sure not to squeeze at Louis’ thighs too hard as he works his lips around him. He’s careful not to hurt his legs, no matter how long he’s been aching to have his hands on them. 

 _Finally_.

He smoothes the flats of his palms down the outsides of Louis’ thighs until he can curl his fingers just under the soft skin behind Louis’ knees, then drags them back up the sensitive undersides again, every time earning a mewl of pleasure from the smaller man. And if Harry isn’t going to massage him to make him feel better, he’s sure as hell gonna put everything he’s got into _this_.

He begins staying down a little longer each time, letting the back of his throat work its magic on Louis’ head and having to hold back his grin when it achieves the response he is hoping for.

“ _God_ … you’re too much…” Louis manages, closing his eyes to the ceiling, his grip on Harry’s hair tightening even more. “ _Fuck_ -” 

It only makes Harry double his efforts.

//

He’s taking Louis down fully now, completely unphased and going for it as though it’s the easiest thing in the world for him. His giant hands have stopped stroking at Louis’ thighs and are now encasing his hips instead, holding him still and rubbing small circles with his thumbs into Louis’ hip bones. Louis’ grateful for that really, as he fears he wouldn’t be able to keep still without Harry anchoring him down. 

Harry’s mouth is other-worldly. Louis’ not sure why he’s surprised, given how Harry kisses him sometimes. But the man clearly has no gag-reflex as he works Louis closer and closer to the edge, and eventually, Louis’ tugs on Harry’s hair become more of a warning than anything else, and Harry gently pulls off, unashamedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he meets Louis’ eyes with a smirk.

Then he ducks down to focus his attentions solely on the quivering muscles on the very insides of Louis’ legs, and Louis thinks he could easily curse his name right now, if he had breath in his lungs with which to do so, that is.

//

After peppering feather-light kisses to the warm skin either side of Louis’ groin, Harry pulls back and rolls his lips into his mouth as he glances down at how his underwear strains taut across his own crotch.

He gets an idea - knowing how dangerously close Louis is, and figuring he’s probably not far off himself - and with nimble fingers, he grabs the waistband and stands to shimmy out of them, all the while admiring the heaving of Louis’ chest, illuminated by the morning sun and looking every bit _edible_. His skin is lightly sparkling with a thin sheen of perspiration, not quite sweaty, and if Louis didn’t shine of his own accord already, he’d certainly be plenty competition with a star right now, Harry thinks. He’s glowing. He’s beautiful. Not to mention the way he’s now palming at his neglected cock too, which Harry does feel a bit sorry for actually. So…

He quickly steps out of his boxers and kicks them out of the way, then reaches to grab a bottle of massage oil, still cluttering the bedside table, before returning to hover over Louis. 

 _Oh god, their combined body heat is intoxicating_.

“S’that?” Louis asks when he sees it, wetting his lips.

“Massage oil.” Harry replies, settling himself on his knees over Louis and popping open the cap.

“Uh, Harry, I’m sure they have warnings on those things about external use only…” Louis is frowning, and Harry wants to kiss the lines from his forehead.

So he does.

//

“Relax, baby. Not yet.” He whispers. “But I do promise to make you feel good.”

Louis nods, pouting a little at the notion that Harry means he’s _not_ going to fuck him this morning. _Why_ _not?_ But then Harry’s pouring massage oil onto his giant hands and Louis swallows at the sight.

“Is that… Is that safe to use though?”

“It’s non-scented, for sensitive skin.”

Louis smirks slowly, his hands coming up to rest against the swell of Harry’s arse above him. 

“Aw, is someone a sensitive little poppet?”

// 

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes, then decides to completely shut Louis up by suddenly encasing both their cocks in his oil-slick palm.

Sure enough, Louis’ giggling stops and his breath hitches.

“ _Oh fuck_ …” He breathes, as Harry smirks and starts moving his hand. 

“Good?” He asks him, though he knows it is, because it’s fucking _amazing_. The wet glide is heavenly and dizzying, and he watches the way Louis’ brow furrows, eyes now closed as he gladly takes what Harry gives him.

It’s quite the sight. Sharp little teeth rib at his own bottom lip, staining it red. Short little moans are interrupted by surprised hiccups of breath every time Harry runs his thumb over Louis’ head. Admittedly, Harry indulges in the effect he has on Louis a little bit _too_ much, neglecting his own cock in the process. He even ducks down to mouth and nibble at Louis’ exposed throat, which ruins the angle of his own pleasure slightly. But it’s worth it for the way Louis’ whimpers pick up, and he starts rolling his hips up into Harry’s grip, faster and faster, his breathing quickening and hands on Harry tightening, until he lets out a strangled cry, high in his throat- “ _ah_ -! Fuck- _fuck_ -”, and comes all over his own stomach and chest.

Harry’s eyes nearly roll back in his head at the sights and sounds of Louis coming undone so openly, and he drops his hand from their cocks in favour of chasing his release, planting them on the bed either side of Louis’ head to use as leverage as he ruts against the lasting friction of Louis’ fading hardness. It's warmer and wetter now that Louis has come, and Louis turns his head to press kisses to Harry's wrist as he lets him use his body.

Harry groans, snapping his hips quicker and quicker, until he has to bite down on Louis’ shoulder and growl to keep from shouting quite loudly as the swirl of pleasure in his gut suddenly bursts, his ears ringing. He’s only slightly aware of the sound of Louis’ pleased little hums as Harry’s release just adds to the mess on his tummy. 

After a long few seconds, Harry’s lazy last few thrusts slow to a stop, and he rolls off of Louis, flopping onto his back beside him.

They’re both breathing stupidly heavily, and Harry almost makes a joke about how much fitter they should sound given they they’re both dancers. But then Louis is rolling into his side, and Harry would welcome him with open arms except he’s covered in cooling come and Harry doesn’t really fancy it drying and both of them ending up sticky with it.

He plants a long, closed-mouthed kiss to Louis’ forehead – a sort-of pre-apology - then quickly extracts himself, heading back into the bathroom to dampen a flannel.

After wiping Louis clean and setting the flannel down on the nearest bedside table, Harry situates the duvet so that it’s covering them both, and then gladly pulls Louis right into his side again, burying his face in his fluffed-up hair.

Louis smells like Gingerlily and cotton and slightly like sweat, and Harry closes his eyes, not quite believing his luck, really.

 _You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this_.

“You’re quite an animal, aren’t you?” Louis hums, long after Harry assumed him to be asleep.

“Hmm?” He replies, frowning a little.

“The… rutting.” Louis replies, yawning.

“Oh.” Harry chuckles once. “Sorry if that was a bit-”

“No, no, it was…” Another yawn. “Was actually quite hot.”

Harry buries his fond grin into Louis’ hair and squeezes around his shoulders.

“Don’t even get me started. Some of your _noises_ , Lou… _honestly_.”

“Shut up.” Louis lazily bats at Harry’s chest, and Harry hums a deep laugh.

“Okay. Shutting up.” He breathes in Louis’ scent deeply, closing his eyes. “Actually, what are your plans for today?”

Louis grumbles against him, then eventually lets out a long sigh.

//

“I’ve got work at 9.” He admits. “What time is it?”

Harry is quiet for a moment, during which Louis assumes he’s finding out the answer to his question.

“Almost eight.” 

Louis groans. 

Harry pulls in a deep breath and shifts his body to face Louis. Louis’ leg moves to drape lazily over Harry’s hip, and Harry doesn’t move it, choosing instead to smirk at him.

“You could call in sick and stay here all day.” He suggests, and Louis nearly chokes on his laugh. 

“ _Excuse_ me? Since when were you such a bad influence?”

Harry’s already laughing too.

“I wasn’t being serious. But I thought you were the responsible adult lately, anyway?” He grins.

“Yeah, well.” He smacks a kiss to Harry’s bicep and then sits up. “I don’t think I’m properly suited for that role, really. Much more your thing.” He flashes the man a grin over his shoulder.

Harry flops over onto his back behind him and huffs as Louis finally stands from the bed, still very much entirely naked and not caring as he opens his arms wide to take a long, leisurely stretch. He smirks when he feels Harry’s eyes on him, and sure enough, not even two seconds later there’s a very large pair of hands high on his thighs, and a mouth is mumbling something into the skin of his hip.

“What was that?” Louis asks.

Harry moves to kneel up behind him quickly, wrapping him tightly in his arms and smoothing his hands up the plain of Louis’ bare chest, breathing in deeply with his lips at Louis’ throat.

 _God_ , this man is relentless. How can he expect Louis to be a proper adult and keep his job when he’s doing things like _this_ when he should be leaving for work?

“I don’t mind driving you? If it means you don’t have to leave quite so early?”

And actually. _That_ offer is more than a little bit tempting. 

Louis quirks an eyebrow to himself and then turns his head to try and meet Harry’s eyes. When he does, he’s not surprised to find them dark and blown and like he _didn't_ just come literally five minutes ago. Relentless. Truly.

“If it means you’ll stop plastering yourself against me like a horny octopus, then yes.” Louis laughs. “Please.”

Harry nods, grins, and darts his head forwards to catch Louis’ mouth in a kiss before he can move away.

“I know we only had baths yesterday, but…” Harry not-so-subtly nudges himself against Louis’ bum. “Shower?”

Louis rolls his eyes at the fact Harry just blatantly broke his promise about plastering himself to him, but ends up smiling fondly when Harry pouts at his lack of an answer. He presses his pout away with another kiss.

“Go on then.”

 

***

 

The morning shift drags ridiculously. It’s even worse because Niall’s not in, so Louis has no one to distract himself from the memories of what he and Harry got up to in the shower.

He ducks his head and bites his lip to keep from smiling when memories flash into his mind’s eye, of Harry pinning him against the tiled wall with his mouth on his neck and a hand around his cock. 

It’s gone 1:30pm when he leaves the shopping centre, and thankfully, he’s not as worked up as he could be. Not to mention giddy, as it dawns on him that he actually, technically - sort of, anyway - had sex with Harry this morning. All of his pent up frustration from Saturday had admittedly made it quite a quick little affair, but _god_ was it worth it. Much better than stumbling drunk into a wall and messily colliding beneath cheap hotel sheets. Harry's _mouth_ \- Just. And the way he'd pinned Louis to the bed to- Louis mentally stops his train of thought there, remembering that he's in public. 

It suddenly dawns on him then too, as he’s stepping out into the crisp early-November air, that his Wednesdays are no longer going to be spent at the studio with Harry now that the competition is all done. He frowns as he heads across the street to Café Nero for a quick lunch, and once he’s ordered and taken a seat, he whips out his phone.

 

**_[13:53] :(_ **

 

He keeps his phone unlocked but places it down on the table as he stirs milk into his tea. Not even three minutes after he sent the text, his phone vibrates with a reply and he smiles to himself.

 

_[13:55] Why the sad face? x_

 

Louis drops the teaspoon onto the saucer so he can pick up his phone again to reply.

 

**_[13:58] Just realised tomorrow is going to be stupidly boring. x_ **

 

_[14:00] Aw, you don’t have any plans? x_

 

**_[14:01] Nope. Should’ve thought about it sooner really. x_ **

 

_[14:03] How was work? x_

 

Louis’ toasted sandwich arrives then and he thanks the young woman with a warm smile. He takes a large bite out of it, then curses and starts fanning his mouth, typing with the other hand while the hot cheese burns his tongue. 

 

**_[14:07] Shite. Should’ve called in sick. x_ **

 

_[14:09] You know, I did suggest that. x_

 

**_[14:10] Would you really have let me though ? Really ? x_ **

 

_[14: 12] Look, Lou. Just because I’m you’re dance teacher doesn’t mean I’m your mum. I don’t have to ‘let’ you do anything. x_

 

Louis chuckles, sipping his tea to try and soothe his tongue a bit. It doesn’t work very well given that his tea is also hot.

 

**_[14:15] Good to know. x_ **

 

_[14:18] Don’t start thinking you can get away with just anything though, Mister. I’m still the responsible one in this relationship. As you so wonderfully inform me on the regular. x_

 

Relationship _._ Huh.

 

Louis’ stomach swoops as he regards that word, but he finishes his lunch before replying to Harry’s text, typing with one hand and sipping his tea with the other.

 

**_[14:29] Are you busy tomorrow? x_ **

 

***

 

Later, he’s flicking through the channels on his tv, wishing for something half decent like Family Guy or at least an old episode of The Simpsons or something, when his phone buzzes again.

 

_[19:12] Sorry. I’ve actually just been sorting something out for tomorrow. Any chance you’re free? x_

 

Louis smiles, typing back quickly.

 

**_[19:14] I told you. My Wednesday’s from now on are stupidly boring. x_ ** ****

**_[19:14] Maybe I’ll just have to start picking up more shifts at Vans... x_ **

 

_[19:15] Well don’t pick up anything for tomorrow afternoon. I want to take you somewhere. x_

 

Louis frowns through his smile, intrigued. 

 

**_[19:17] Am I allowed to know where? x_ **

 

He laughs when Harry’s reply buzzes through.

 

_[19:19] Of course not. I’ll pick you up 2:30pm. Wear ballet tights. x_

 

Louis laughs and shakes his head fondly, dropping his phone on the sofa beside him. Harry is nothing if not full of surprises.


	20. XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is an excited child. Harry gets some devastating news. 
> 
> tw: minor character death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the update's here a tad bit early because I've got guests coming round tomorrow and as much as I'm sure they'd be polite about it, I don't think they'd appreciate being subjected to me ignoring them all day to write. (laughing emoji)
> 
> Anyhoo! Enjoy this one. Apologies in advance for the upset - if caused - and please understand that I wouldn't include it if it wasn't necessary! I've actually been semi-dreading these next two chapters ever since I came up with the plot of this story. It's never nice to write (or read) about these things but unfortunately there's no escaping the realities of life, even if I can weave this web however I want to. If all we wrote about was unicorns and puppies, the stories we'd end up with would be lovely, but extremely unrealistic. So yeah. Enjoy this, and let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> I've had some truly amazing comments just recently and I'd like to thank every one of you who take the time to leave them. I cherish every single one. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Much love!
> 
> P.S. How are we at Chapter 20. What. Lol this thing is fucking loooong. Thanks for still being here.

Harry pulls up on the road outside Louis’ building and switches off the engine with a click. It smoothly loses power, and Harry hops out into the road to hurry around the back before a car passes. It’s chilly this afternoon, and his hands instinctively find their way into his coat pockets, long fingers curling up into his palms to try and glean a little extra heat.

A few more long strides bring him up to the front door of the building where, luckily, the door is being held open by a friendly neighbour of Louis’ – Harry _assumes_ , he’s never actually met anyone that lives in the same building – and he gives the guy a cheery nod of thanks, happily and hastily welcoming the warmth of the downstairs foyer. 

He hunches and drops his shoulders as he takes in the fact that Louis doesn’t seem to be waiting for him, and glances around at the small entryway. It’s hardly glamourous. There’re two vending machines up against a wall opposite the bottom of the stairs, and just past them, a dodgy looking lift. Other than that the small space is bare and smells vaguely of rubber and rust. 

Harry remembers this from the morning he brought Louis back after they travelled home from Scotland.

Scotland. _Feels like a lifetime ago._  

With a sharp inhale, he checks his phone for the time; **2:27pm**. A teensy bit early. Probably why Louis wasn’t waiting for him then.

Harry busies himself by double-checking the route they need to take, opening up Google Maps and checking he’s got the address right too. Then, when his phone shows **2:35** , he jogs up the stairs – he figures it’s good to get the exercise, plus the lift was making alarmingly strange noises – and raps his knuckles against Louis’ door in a jovial rhythm.

A few seconds of silence pass, and okay, so Louis might not have heard him. 

Harry tries again, less jovially and more plain as confusion sets in.

 _Knock-knock, knock-knock._  

He frowns as yet again no response comes.

There’s a small letterbox that creaks sharply as Harry prises it open with two fingers and bends at the middle to position his mouth level with the gap. A faint smell that Harry can only describe as _Louis_ catches across his nose and cheeks.

“Lou? You home?” He calls. 

Another few seconds of silence pass and Harry wets his lips, his frown deepening. All he can see through the letterbox is Louis’ hallway, and the expanse of living room at the far end of the short corridor shows no traces of life at all.

 _Hmm_.

Harry drops the letterbox and straightens, reaching for his phone and dialling Louis’ number. The ringtone sounds from the other side of the door, muffled like it’s somewhere deep inside the flat. _So Louis is home._  

Harry’s just about to hang up, even more confused at the lack of an answer, when the ringtone from inside stops, and the line in his ear is connected- 

“-‘Lo?” Louis clears his throat. “M’hello?”

“Lou?” Harry can’t help the smile that slowly curls at his mouth. Louis sounds like he just woke up.

“Harry? Um, what-… _Oh_ _shit_.”

The line goes dead. Harry chuckles as he pockets his phone again, and shortly after that, the door to the flat swings open to reveal Louis looking thoroughly, well, _fluffy_. (Harry needs to brush up on his adjectives.)

Harry pulls his lips into his mouth, pressing them into a tight line of amusement as he surveys Louis with raised eyebrows and leans casually against the doorframe.

“Busy day?”

Louis groans, scratching absently at his bare hip, narrowly suppressing a yawn.

“ _Sorry_ , shit. I must’ve dozed off, I was- Err… come- come in. I’ll just, um, sort myself out.” Louis jerks his head to beckon Harry forward, stepping to the side to let him through the door.

The small, sleep-rumpled man smells slightly of tea and cinnamon, and his hair is sticking up in feathery tufts all over his head and his eyes are barely open. Harry can’t help himself, really. He tips Louis’ chin up with a finger as he steps inside, catching the slight man’s slack mouth in a fond kiss. He smiles when he pulls back.

“I’ll put the kettle on? But we can’t be too long, the appointment is at 3:45.” Harry brushes the pad of his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip gently, admiring the new colour to the shorter man’s cheeks, then heads further inside and towards where he hopes is the kitchen.

He doesn’t hear the front door close until a good few seconds later and smirks to himself a little as he locates two mugs from the cupboard directly above the kettle. _Of course the mugs don’t live far from the kettle, this is Louis._

“Appointment? Where exactly _are_ you taking me?” Louis appears in the kitchen and folds his arms, leaning his hip against the counter to Harry’s right. He moves a hand up to push it through his sleep-ruffled hair. The added question comes out through another yawn, “Or am I still not allowed to know?” 

Harry just smirks at him as he fills the kettle up from the tap, glancing sideways to meet Louis’ eyes then pointedly returning his attention into the sink.

Louis huffs.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” He sighs. “I’ll go and get dressed.”

 

***

 

Being ordered to get in a car with no knowledge of where said car is going or what he’s going to be expected to do once they reach said unknown destination _isn’t_ exactly one of Louis’ favourite things to do. In a bid to put an end to his mental torture, he’d continued trying to get information out of his dance teacher over their mugs of tea. But the taller man had kept his lips firmly zipped on the matter, seeming to delight in how it only wound Louis up further. Which, of course, wound Louis up even more, _further_ widening the grin of amusement painted across Harry’s lips. It was a very vicious circle they were stuck in over that cup of tea.

“Do I not even get a hint?” Louis asks, turning the radio down so he can speak over it.

Harry seems to think about that for a while, then finally sighs and eventually smiles.

“Okay, fine. One hint.” He says, still smiling as he checks his main mirror. “Toe boxes.” 

“Toe bo- _Oh my god_.” Louis snaps his head to look at Harry properly, a hand coming out to grasp in dramatic disbelief at the younger man’s wrist where he’s resting his hand on the gear stick. 

Harry’s already grinning, checking his mirror again before moving out to overtake the vehicle in front. 

“Are we-?” Louis manages. Harry nods. “Fucking _pointe_ shoes?! Harry! Really?!”

Harry’s grin finally breaks into a laugh. He completes the manoeuvre, finally able to glance sideways to meet Louis’ eyes for a second. He smiles wider as he returns his attention to the road, another chuckle tumbling out. 

“I take it you’re excited about that idea?” 

“Harry, are you _kidding_?” Louis can barely sit still in his seat. “The Swan would work _so_ well _en pointe_. You cannot imagine the ideas I’ve been coming up with since I thought of it, I mean, it would enhance the character indefinitely, but think about the way we can portray the differences between the The Swan and The Prince if I dance _en pointe_ , it would look-”  

“I know.” Harry interrupts Louis’ babbling with a few nods. “I figured you may have already come up with some ideas.”

“You know me too well.” Louis laughs and sits back in his seat, eyes finding the fast-moving scenery and head already filling with images of himself dancing some of his steps in _pointe_ shoes. 

“Nah.” Harry counters, shifting gear. “I think I know you about well enough.”

 

***

 

They receive a few odd looks from the fitting assistant and her colleagues when they turn up for their appointment at 3:45 and Harry explains that he’d like to find a pair of shoes for his very-male student. But the young woman doesn’t say anything out loud, just nods and gestures for them to take a seat while she disappears to fetch the necessary equipment to measure Louis’ feet.

They try pair after pair, Louis gingerly goes up onto his toes in each set, a steady hand gripping a makeshift _barre_ on the wall of the shop, his other grasping hold of Harry’s forearm.

It takes a while to find the right ones - as it always does with _pointe_ shoes - but Louis guesses it’s also extra tricky for him, given that the shoes are really only made for female feet. 

Eventually, after loads that are too tight in the toe box or pinch too much into the backs of his heels when he rises, he finally finds a pair that feel right all over. They need breaking in, the shanks that run up the sole of his foot are factory-stiff and make it hard for him to rise through the foot fully. But that’s normal for a brand new pair anyway, and these ones hug his feet and support his arch just right, so Louis can deal with the temporary inflexibility of the shanks.

Harry pays, after an almost-embarrassing semi-argument with Louis over it – “Madam Charee insists she gets these, Louis, I promise you they’re not coming from my own pocket”, “you’re probably just saying that”, “trust me, I’m not” – and they leave the shop with Louis just as giddy, if not more, than when they went in. 

“I can’t wait to break them in and get practicing.” He’s practically bouncing in his seat as they drive back across London to his flat.

“You’ll only be able to wear them for a few minutes each lesson, at first. Any longer and you’ll risk damaging your feet.” Harry instructs, though Louis knows that already, and tells him so.

It’s almost 5:30 when they arrive back in Louis’ area, and Louis is still on an excited high when they pull up outside his building.

“You coming up?” 

Harry hesitates, and a sudden swirl of nerves build in Louis’ chest and he’s not sure why. 

“I can’t actually, sorry, Lou. I promised my mum I’d FaceTime her tonight. She’s been on at me for a few days.” He chuckles, though Louis notices it sounds strained. “I’d do it at yours but she wants to talk to me about something in particular, I don’t know. Seems serious.”

Harry’s brought a hand up to play with his bottom lip in thought, his brow folding deep, and it’s enough for Louis to drop the banterous approach he was about to take.

“Oh- okay.” He nods instead, grip tightening on the bag holding his new shoes. Harry genuinely does look a bit concerned about whatever it is. “No worries, I’ll see you Friday then?” 

Remorse fills Harry’s eyes then and he bites his lip. “Are you working tomorrow?”

Louis nods. “9-5.”

Harry doesn’t start humming the famous Dolly Parton tune as Louis expects him to, and instead he winces, sad.

“Sorry, baby.” 

It’s the first time Harry’s called him that outside of ‘bedroom activities’ – though there have admittedly been only few - and it makes Louis smile a little, softening the disappointed lump behind his sternum. 

“It’s alright.” He lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. “I can survive not seeing you every day, don’t worry, Styles.” He grins. 

Harry seems unconvinced at first, then closes his eyes in a long blink and smiles.

“Friday then.”

Louis unbuckles his seatbelt and leans across the gap to press his mouth just below Harry’s jaw. 

“Friday.”

Harry catches his face in his hand and draws out a proper kiss, long and unhurried, before Louis pulls all the way back again and smiles with a soft hum. 

He ducks inside the building before Harry drives away, the November chill seeping into his clothes far too quickly for his liking.

He pretends he’s not affected by Harry’s ominous FaceTime conversation topic the whole time he stuffs microwave curry into his mouth, the whole time he collapses on the sofa with old episodes of Friends, and the whole time he gets ready for bed and takes hours to actually fall asleep. 

 

***

 

He's totally fine about it when he doesn't hear from Harry all day on Thursday either. 

Sort of.

 

***

 

“-then you loop it back around. That’s it. Then just tie it tightly on the inside of your ankle there. Once it’s tight enough you can cut off all this excess bit and then they’ll always be the right length. Oh, and top tip, when you're planning on wearing them for a long time, like for a show, hairspray the knot. It helps it hold.”

“You’re a saviour. Thanks, Pez.”

Perrie just shrugs it off, dismissing it as general knowledge that’s she’s his saviour – of course - then starts complimenting Louis on how pretty his feet look in the new shoes. 

“You’re gonna be so beautiful, Lou.” She sighs, sitting back on her heels where she’s knelt neatly next to him. “They really compliment your calves. I can definitely see why Harry decided to have you go _en pointe_.” She teases, watching Louis fiddle with the ribbons as he begins to copy the tying process on his second foot.

“Harry did this for _performance_ purposes, Pez.” Louis explains. “It’s to help further distinguish The Swan from The Prince. Hopefully it’ll inject a decent amount of femininity into the role too. That’ll be good.” 

Perrie rolls her eyes beside him.

“Without damaging your fragile masculinity-”

Louis’ snort of laughter interrupts her momentarily.

“- you’ve got quite a lot of the femininity down already, babe. And I’m sure if I asked Harry he’d agree. Those leg lines of yours make us girls green with envy sometimes!” She laughs and reaches to fiddle with a stray strand of his fringe. “But I know what you mean, the _pointe_ shoes will definitely look good.”

Louis agrees, smiling up at her in excitement, and finishes tying the ribbons on his second foot. After Perrie hands him some scissors to cut the ribbons down to length, he makes to get up, taking a firm hold of the _barre_ and wincing as the toe boxes pinch his toes together while he stands on flat feet, already finding it a ridiculously weird sensation to have his feet _so_ squashed, and out of choice too. _Ouch_. 

The blonde stands back to admire him when he slowly rises through and settles _en pointe,_ twirling the scissors on her index finger as she nods, impressed _._ The pressure on the ends of Louis’ toes is no less odd than it was in the shop, and Perrie places the scissors down and comes to stand in front of him, mirroring his stance in her own pair of well-worn _pointe_ shoes.

“You’re gonna match us girly swans now, LouLou.” She giggles. “Is there a political point here somewhere that I’m missing?” 

Louis laughs too, high and relaxed even though he keeps having to shift his weight from foot to foot as he balances, the blood draining out of his tightly-trapped toes. There’s something about being _en pointe_ that makes his ankles feel weak but Perrie assures him that the feeling fades once you get used to dancing this way.

"I don’t think there’s any main intention that involves any sort of political statement.” He finally answers her earlier question after he’s given himself time to think about it a bit. “But I like that we’re breaking the norms. Male dancers nearly never wear _pointe_ shoes, and in the rare instances that they do, it’s always for comedy. They wear them for the laughs.” 

“It’s good that this is serious then. I like that.” Perrie chirps, the pair of them chatting away while still on the height of their toes. “So, I take it Harry’s probably already told you it’s safer to wear them in short bursts?” She checks, rolling down onto flat feet and back up again, working the loose shanks on her shoes to show Louis how to loosen his own. 

Louis nods in affirmation and copies her movements, his nose scrunching when the stiff soles barely bend as he flattens his feet again. He can’t wait for them to loosen up because _that_ feeling is horrible. It’s a scary few seconds of unsupported descent and it’s not nice.

“You’ll loosen them up in no time.” Perrie assures him, noticing his face screw up.

Louis’ about to ask how long it took for her own shanks to soften when the studio doors swing open – the non-changing room ones, meaning it can only be a teacher – and Perrie’s turning over her shoulder to see who it is too. 

“Oh, Harry! Looky-look!”

Harry’s features soften from a stoic, schooled expression and he takes in the sight before him as if he’s just woken up from a nap, blinking and slowly registering what he’s looking at. Louis frowns.

 _Odd_.

“Wow, you two’re early.” He chirps, though there’s a wobble to his voice that Louis’ sure he’s the only one to pick up on.

“Could say the same about you.” He replies, maintaining his usual cheery tone on purpose, watching Harry closely.

Harry doesn’t reply to that though, just smiles and sets about taking off his shoes.

“Err, Monsieur Styles?” Perrie says, hands finding her hips as she lowers off of her toes.

“Hm? Yes, Perrie?” Harry replies absently, not looking up from where he’s bent over his bag.

Perrie glances at Louis, silently asking him what’s going on with the taller man. Louis can only shrug and shake his head. _No idea_.

“Um, isn’t there something you haven’t noticed?” She presses, turning back to direct her playful tone at Harry. 

“Well, if I haven’t noticed it, Perrie, then how am I supposed to-…” Harry’s looking up now, eyes finally landing on Louis who makes sure to quirk an eyebrow as he points to his feet with one hand and slowly rises up onto his toes. “Oh! They look wonderful, Lou- Sorry, I wasn’t- Wow.” He’s quick to move across the studio space.

“What do you think?” Louis executes a few _courus en pointe_ to test the shoes out a bit. “We came in early so Perrie could help me get them on.”

“I’m showing him a few breaking-in exercises.” Perrie provides, smiling just as proudly as Louis is.

Harry’s standing with his hands on his hips, admiring the look of Louis’ feet as he rolls up and down a few times, onto his toes and off again. 

He starts nodding. 

“Very good. They look great, Louis. And thanks for your help, Perrie.” He sends her a smile. “Can I assume you’re on board with the whole thing then?”

“Love it.” The blonde is quick to say, then meets Louis’ eyes. “And I think he’ll look amazing.” 

Louis pulls a goofy face at her to hide his blush, laughing with her when she descends into giggles.

“Yeah, I agree.” Harry says, turning back to meet Louis’ eyes too.

Even though Harry’s gazing at him almost adoringly, Louis doesn’t miss Perrie’s pleased look. ‘ _See?_ ’

He rolls his eyes at her as she raises both eyebrows at him and sticks her tongue out right back when he does it first.

 

***

 

“Wonderful! Good- keep those _piqués_ sharp! It translates to ‘pricking’ for a reason! Prick the floor with your toes! Quick! Quick!… Good!”

As expected, Harry is the same today as he was during class on Monday. Though thankfully, Louis can see that he’s not getting quite as stressed as he was before. Louis hopes it’s because he spoke to him afterwards and reassured him like he did, though there’s something about the way Harry’s brow sits, how his jaw is tight and clenched when he’s not shouting corrections and praises that leads Louis to believe there’s something else on his mind altogether, distracting him.

“Okay, take these _developpé en l’air_ slowly, don’t bend that supporting leg, keep it locked. Very good.” Harry nods. “Looking good guys! Keep it up!”

They’re about halfway through the class when things change.

(Louis took his _pointe_ shoes off before they began and both Perrie and Harry made him promise not to put them on again for the rest of the class, no matter how much he’d pouted about it. They’re both tough to crack, those two.)

Harry’s now busy working over something with Zayn in one corner of the studio, and while Louis waits, he’s doing what he’s always done best in any classroom setting, and is distracting the others. With a poor French accent and clumsy, clown-like versions of some of the easiest steps in the routine, he’s filling his time making the others laugh.

And the others _are_ laughing, though most are also rolling their eyes, and some are even pointedly ignoring him altogether. Louis’ about to bark at them in a purposely-poor attempt at imitating Harry, when the studio doors swing open and in walks Madam Charee.

Louis is quick to right his position, turning back to where Harry and Zayn are working, making sure to appear like he’s just been waiting patiently for them this whole time. Yep.

Madam Charee doesn’t come over to speak to Harry like Louis’d assumed she would, though, and after a few seconds, he’s too confused not to look over to where she came in, surprised to find her taking a seat by Harry’s dance bag. She folds one leg over the other and places her hands in her lap, tilting her head to one side as she watches Harry and Zayn work through a particularly tricky _allegro_ sequence with an impressed smile. 

“Err, Harry…” Louis whispers, trying to maintain a subtle approach. “Haz? Um… you’ve got a spectator?”

“Hmm?” Harry looks up from where he’s pointing something out to Zayn. “Oh. Oh, yes!” He apologies to Zayn and starts clapping to gain everyone’s attention. “Guys! Hello, can I have you looking this way, please! Thank you!"

He moves to stand in the centre of the room and waits until everyone’s listening.

“I apologise, I forgot to tell you, but we’ve got Madam Charee in today to see how we’re getting on.” He explains. “No pressure, just keep working as you are. She’s bound to be impressed, you’re doing really well today. Let’s keep it up, let’s go!” He claps again and motions for them to continue, then meets Madam Charee’s eyes across the studio and gives her a thumbs up. Louis watches as she sends Harry a smiling nod, and then casts her eyes across the room as the dancers get back to rehearsing with slightly more purpose than before. 

Louis figures his time for messing about is over then. 

 _Right_. 

The class continues with only a faint atmosphere of what you’d expect when roughly twenty young dancers are under the scrutiny of the Head of The School.

Louis personally tries to forget Madam Charee is even there, going about his business and getting on with the class as if it’s any other, normal Friday. Though Harry is providing enough distraction all by himself, because Louis is still unable to help but watch him closely, still concerned that there’s something not quite right. He’s got a permanent tightness about his shoulders and it’s not the exasperation he held on Monday, it’s something he’s purposely and actively trying to suppress. Louis can tell because every time they catch eye contact his smile is trying too hard, eyes not glittering like they usually do. It’s funny… that same glittery look that used to wind Louis up like a bobbin. But lately, he’s come to live for it, and now that it’s not there, he wishes it was.

By the end of the day Louis’ broken the skin on his bottom lip from gnawing at it with worry. 

“ _Magnifique_! I really am very impressed.” Madam Charee is beaming at them all as they sit in various places across the studio floor to cool down and stretch and get their breath back.

Louis has his right let spread out to one side, his left almost underneath his bum as he reaches to manually point his right foot with his hand, manipulating it to arch a tiny bit further than he naturally could, stretching out his muscles as they cool down.

“By the time the production is ‘ere, you will all look fabulous! Just keep working on those more difficult, technical steps. ‘Arry knows where I mean, and I am sure he will ‘elp you all to tidy it up.” She nods, agreeing with herself as she speaks. “I ‘ave every faith in ‘im. As always.”

This earns her a warm smile from Harry. To everyone else in the studio, it’s a regular one of Harry’s warm smiles. But to Louis, it’s frayed at the edges and not entirely truthful. He purposely keeps his eyes on the taller man until Harry notices him staring and meets his gaze.

Louis just holds it, silently asking him if he’s okay. Harry must understand the intentions behind his lengthy look because he presses his lips together and doesn't quite nod properly, blinking his eyes a bit too quickly and looking away as he draws in a shaky breath.

He most definitely is not okay.

“-and I think it will ‘elp you all to relax from today and come to see this space as a welcoming, happy place to dance.” 

Wait, what? Louis’ a bit behind… 

“What’s she on about?” He leans to nudge Jade in the side, whispering.

“Madam says we should have some drinks here for an hour or two.”

“What, _now_?” 

Jade nods. “She says it’ll help us see the space as a relaxed environment in which to creatively express.” Jade giggles then. “She’s so poetic, I feel sorry for her that we all just find it so funny. Bless her.”

Louis isn’t laughing though. His eyes are back on Harry, wondering whether this really is a good idea. Harry probably wants to just go home.

“Okay? I will see you all ‘ere in an hour or so. Bring drink and food, whatever you like. Just keep it clean and tidy, yes?”

Louis can’t join in on the excited atmosphere once Madam Charee as bid goodbye and disappeared. He can’t get involved with the plans over who’s bringing what, either. He’s pretty sure he gets assigned to bring plastic cups and straws, but he’s not really listening because all he wants to do is ask Harry if he’s okay. And maybe kiss the line of worry that’s etched into his brow.

 

***

 

Despite trying his hardest to catch a moment alone with him, Louis fails to find out what’s the matter with Harry because every time he thinks Harry might be alone for long enough to talk, someone else interrupts with something else to do with the bloody party that Louis’ not sure he even wants to be a part of.

All too soon, Madam Charee is returning, dressed in a lightweight pantsuit with lilac floral detail that brings out the green in her eyes, and everyone’s giving her compliments and handing out drinks – Louis ended up asking Perrie to fetch cups from the corner shop when they went to buy the alcohol, she didn’t ask why he couldn’t go with them, but the attempt turned out to be futile anyway, as Louis couldn’t even find Harry to talk to him before everyone returned.

He’s not in the studio now, Louis realises, and he desperately wants to go looking for him. He’s about to make up some excuse to Perrie and Jade who’re chatting away about pointe shoes with him – or rather, _at_ him – but then Harry appears at Madam Charee’s side, his smile much the same as it has been all day as he says something that makes her bring one hand to her mouth and swat at him with the other. His resulting laugh _does_ reach his eyes, and his dimples _do_ make an appearance, but Louis isn’t fooled. 

It’s about an hour and a half later when he finally gets him semi-alone, and it’s because Harry is asking him to dance.

Kevin is manning the music system, keeping a shuffled Spotify playlist on through his phone. Several dancers have formed a ‘dance-floor’ in the centre of the studio, and Harry pulls Louis over to it, pleading with his eyes in a way that Louis just can’t argue against.

The atmosphere is generally quite light and happy and loud, and Louis can’t find it in himself to interrogate Harry while he sways them to and fro to a ‘Boy Meets Girl’ song. He inwardly sighs in defeat – mentally noting to not let Harry out of his sight until the end so that he can maybe _finally_ talk to him before he heads home - and brings his arms up around Harry’s neck to give into the rhythm of the music and dance with him in relaxed silence.

“ _Waiting for a star to fall!_   _And c_ _arry your heart into my arms-“_

_“That’s where you belong-“_

_“-in my arms baby, yeah!”_

Jade and Perrie are wailing the song at each other, complete with passionate gestures and, at one point, a failed attempted at the famous Dirty Dancing ‘swan lift’ that literally fell apart with shrieked giggles and a resulting pile of Perrie-and-Jade on the floor.

As Louis’ turned his head to laugh at them, Harry ducks his head to whisper low in his ear.

“Should we show them how it’s done?” He quips, a smirk in his voice.

Louis turns, setting him a look.

“We’ve only managed it in water, Patrick Swayze. I wouldn’t place your bets on us ending up any better than that.” He nods to the pile of limbs that’s still cackling away. 

“I don’t know… Not that bad of a way to end it if it does fail.” Harry smirks again, wetting his lips with his tongue.

It tugs at something low in Louis’ gut, pleasant and heady. But Louis ignores it, still far too preoccupied with finding out whatever it is that’s wrong with Harry to engage in anything like that with him right now. His worry sits heavy in his chest, dampening out any real chance of arousal anyhow. Louis wonders briefly whether that’s his brain’s way of telling him he’s a bit gone for the taller man. But he shakes the thought to the side for now. He’ll address that another time. 

“Are you excited to get started properly with your _pointe_ work?” Harry is asking him now, obviously dropping the flirty attempt.

Louis is grateful and takes the question with open arms.

“Yeah, I really am. It was so frustrating today during rehearsals because they were _right there_ and I couldn’t-”

Louis is sharply interrupted by Harry’s phone, obviously, because the taller man moves quicker than Louis’ seen him move all day to whip it out of his back pocket and dash out of the studio to answer it.

Right then. So. Alone in the middle of the studio. Okay. 

He thinks about it for a second, eyes following after where the doors are now shifting shut, and without giving himself time to regret it, he’s hot on Harry’s heels, pushing his way through the studio doors and out into the corridor. The music becomes muffled as they swing shut again behind him, and Louis frowns when he finds that the corridor is empty. Maybe Harry disappeared into the toilets to take the call. 

Louis briefly wonders whether it’s breaching the man’s privacy to follow him like this, but that thought is quickly squashed by his need to know what’s got Harry so out of sorts.

He’s not in the toilets. (Louis checks the women’s too, just for good measure.) 

Fuck, wherever he went he must’ve _run_ there.

Checking the remaining downstairs studios only tells Louis that Harry _has_ to either be upstairs or outside.

He sort of kicks himself a bit when he peers into the window of the studio they used to use for his solo practice, and finds Harry leaning against the ballet _barre_ in the dark, phone gripped in one of the hands that’s bracing his weight back against the wood.

There’s a pale stretch of moonlight pooling low across the polished hardwood and a tiny sliver of it touches Harry’s melancholy form. His back is curled in, shoulders hunched, and his hair is falling down into his face, hiding it from Louis; which is why it pulls an audible gasp from the shorter man once he’s entered the studio and made his way over to find that when Harry looks up, it's with visible tear-tracks staining his cheeks.

“Oh my-  Harry? What’s wrong?” Louis is there in an instant, hands cradling Harry’s face as his expression crumples and more tears fall, hot when they reach where Louis is holding him and slipping wetly beneath his fingers. Yeah, Harry’s not been himself today but Louis never for one moment imagined it was over something that’d make him feel like _this_. He feels more tears fall and collect at his fingers and he’s quick to stroke them away as best as he can.

“Hey…” He breathes, which only pulls a choked sob out of Harry. “Hey, hey… _come here_ …”

Suddenly, Louis is reminded of soothing his younger sisters’ nightmares as Harry’s arms come tight around him. The phone clatters to the floor, forgotten, and Harry is clutching onto Louis for support as proper sobs now wrack his body. It breaks Louis’ heart.

“ _Sssh_ …” Louis soothes, his hands now stroking at Harry’s back, one coming up to hold him by his head. Harry’s curling into Louis’ smaller form, his face tucked into his neck and his tears soaking the shoulder of his shirt. Louis doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“Please, Harry… you’ve been so quiet all day… please- tell me what’s going on?”

Louis waits for a few seconds; time that is filled with Harry’s sobs slowing into broken breathing. It’s not much of an improvement, really, but Louis’ll take it over the sobbing. He keeps his hand stroking where it rests on Harry’s back. A rhythmic reminder, _I’ve got you._  

“Can you tell me, Harry? Is it something you can tell me?” Louis tries again, hoping beyond all hope that it is, if only to help lighten the burden it’s placing on Harry’s shaking shoulders. 

Thankfully, Harry nods into Louis’ neck and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, mouthing ‘thank god’ to himself with his chin pressed tightly to Harry’s shoulder.

Eventually, the younger man’s grip loosens and he sort of half pulls back out of the embrace. Louis drops his hands to the slight dip of Harry’s waist and rubs soothing thumbs up and down where they sit. His eyes search as much of Harry’s face as he can – Harry’s still got his head ducked – and he patiently waits for Harry to muster up the energy – _or courage?_ – to tell him what’s got him so upset.

When he finally finds his voice and grapples to get it out, the words bring a sharp pang of pain to his chest and tears welling in Louis’ eyes too. Because, _oh god_.

“It’s- That was Mum, she’s been ringing me on and off pretty much all day. I missed a lot of the calls ‘cause I was teaching but, um…” He stops to inhale shakily. “She just phoned to tell me that- she- uh,” His voice breaks and Louis feels sick, “- it’s Grandma Winnie, she’s…” He swallows and can’t meet Louis’ eyes, “She was admitted to hospital earlier this week and um-”

_Oh god. No._

“- she’s died, Lou.”


	21. XXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are confusing. Sometimes you need a healer, sometimes you need a distraction. Harry and Louis somehow provide both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! (When you're told your holiday location has wifi but it's slower than a snail and you have to make sure no one else is on it in order to upload... *eye roll*)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one! A mixed bag, really. Bit of angst, bit of fluff, oh... and a healthy portion of smut. ;) My beta - who prefers to remain anon - literally had one sentence for me after first reading this chapter. 
> 
> "Harry might dance like a gazelle, but he fucks like an ape." 
> 
> Wasn't really sure what to do with that.
> 
> Enjoy!

The funeral is a simple affair.

Despite the winter weather, the family adhere to Grandma Winnie’s lifelong wishes of having an outdoor burial rather than a cremation, and they stand in a tight huddle of mourning in the November rain, umbrellas black and faces cast down to the coffin as it’s gently lowered into the ground. 

Harry had pleaded for Louis to attend the funeral with him, standing in the studio not five minutes after he’d finally managed to explain why he was so upset, blinking through his tears and avoiding Louis’ eyes as he’d asked him, sounding a lot like he’d expected Louis to decline. At that point Harry’d had no idea when or where the funeral even was, but his desperation for Louis to make sure he wasn’t attending alone had won out in favour of waiting to find all that sort of information out. He just wanted Louis by his side, that much was clear. 

And who was Louis to deny him such a plea? There wasn’t an iota of ability within him to even consider saying no to the weeping man in front of him. He hardly recognised the Harry in that studio, and if him attending the funeral would help the man to face the onslaught of emotions with slightly more ease, he’d be there come rain or shine. Louis files that particular thought under ‘Emotions: Query: Harry” and decides to come back to it later.

When they’d first entered the church for the funeral service, Louis had discreetly offered Harry his hand. _I’m right here_. And now, as they stand in the rain around Grandma Winnie’s coffin, Harry still hasn’t let go.

Louis doesn't mind. There’s nothing that would stop him from holding onto Harry right now, as tightly as he is. Every so often Harry gives his hand a little stroke with his thumb and Louis figures he’s probably using it to keep himself in check. Though Louis does still wonder whether the rain dripping from Harry’s nose and chin is really rain at all. His lashes are damp and his eyes are red-rimmed. 

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand as the last member of the family to place a flower atop the coffin does so, in the faint chance that the taller man needs a reminder that he’s there. Harry’s glassy green eyes are fixed shakily onto the coffin as it slowly disappears below the surface of the ground, but he squeezes Louis’ hand in return.

 

***

 

Louis never thought he’d find himself in Scotland again so soon. Much less sitting once again in Anne and Robin’s living room, eating off of paper plates and making small talk with Harry’s distant relatives.

One very different thing this time, however, is the weight of the air in the room. The atmosphere is markedly less celebratory than it was the last time he was at Anne’s, and the biggest constant reminder to Louis is the way the man sitting beside him is far from his usual self.

Harry isn’t physically emotional, not like he was when the news first hit him, but he’s quiet and absent, and Louis is struggling to feel okay about that. But he knows there’s nothing he can do, which is getting to him. Funerals are one of very few places where it’s acceptable for an entire room of people to be actively trying to keep the mood light, all the while knowing exactly how everyone is truly feeling. And Harry deserves to feel this way, he supposes. Louis is even feeling it too. It’s like Harry’s sadness is seeping into Louis’ heart via some torturous form of osmosis. _Emotions: Query: Harry._

Louis watches as a couple of relatives seated opposite them across the coffee table are leafing through a large photo album, all sad smiles and watery laughs. He turns to look at Harry who’s watching them too, and doesn’t miss the way his next inhale is shaky, trembling at his mouth.

“Hey,” Louis places a gentle hand on Harry’s knee to get his attention. “Do you want to come away for a bit? Garden?” 

Louis knows it’s November, and raining, but Anne’s back door brings them out under a sheltered porch, a double set of garden chairs and a small table is empty to the right of the space, and Harry heads straight for it, sitting with a defeated sound and closing his eyes.

Louis takes the chair opposite, battling over whether he should reach across and offer his hands to Harry again. He settles for resting his weight on his elbows instead, fingertips grazing the tabletop back and forth as he desperately thinks for something to say.

“Thank you, Lou.” 

Louis flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s, now open and considerably less teary than before. He smiles as warmly as he can.

“Don’t be silly, Harry. You know you don’t have to thank me.” He slides his hands across the table, palms up. Harry settles his own – although much larger – neatly inside them. Louis moves his thumbs over Harry’s knuckles in soothing strokes as he continues. “If this is where you want me then this is where I am.” He pauses, wondering if that even made sense, but Harry seems to understand. He shifts in his seat and leans forward a little, eyes settling absently on their joined hands.

“I just feel like… You didn’t have to come. But you did, and I’m pleased and-… I feel like… Grandma Winnie would be pleased that you did too.” He breathes, eyes finding Louis’. 

Louis feels a sudden weight settle heavily on his shoulders, a tiny slither of guilt curling in his chest. 

“Um… I don’t know about that.” He starts, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not really what she thought- Or I wasn’t, anyway… um, still aren’t, really, if we’re honest…” 

“What’s wrong, Louis? You’re not what?” Harry presses, brow furrowing and _oh god_ , Louis hates that face. It’s sad and confused and pouty and hurt and- 

“I just…” He pauses to suck in a breath. “I feel like I lied to her?” He winces, meeting Harry’s eyes carefully.

“Lied?” Harry’s face crumples into deeper confusion. “About?”

“Well, it wasn’t a lie… so much as- Well, I didn’t correct her did I? So would that count as a lie? I mean, either way she was lead to believe in a non-truth, so-”

“Louis.” Harry cuts him off, hands tightening in their joined grip on the table. “What are you talking about?”

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek a bit.

“At her party, Harry. When she was-… She assumed some things didn’t she? We were chatting at the table and she was going on about how lucky you were and-…” He swallows. “I said I was the lucky one, really. Or something like that. And I just… I literally led her to believe we were more than we are, just because I couldn’t bear the look on her face; she was so _happy_ , Harry. I couldn’t ruin that. I couldn’t correct her, because she seemed so in love with the idea of- and she’d unknowingly created it, I guess, but I mean, she didn’t-…” He stops himself just in time. _Emotions: Query: Harry._ Okay, maybe he can word this a little differently…

“I…” He continues, eyes fixed on their hands. “What she was saying made at least a little bit of sense didn’t it? I mean, we said it ourselves. People were going to assume things. But… Your Grandma, she… and now she’s-”

“Lou, look at me.” Harry’s hands are stroking Louis’ now and Louis finally stops his ridiculous babbling and hesitantly meets his eyes. 

“Yeah?” He says, when Harry doesn’t immediately start talking. 

“If I may give my opinion on this?” He begins, and then continues after Louis nods. “I wouldn’t worry about it. As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t lie.”

“I just feel really shitty, Harry. I mean, shit, I’m sorry for making this all about me suddenly. I’m supposed to be here to comfort you but the thought suddenly occurred to me and now I can’t stop thinking about it-” 

“ _Lou_.” Harry chuckles lightly, eyes still glassy but a little bit brighter. “You are comforting me. You’re here, aren’t you?” 

Louis nods.

“And, I mean, we should probably talk about it a bit more than this but… at least for now, I’d quite confidently say that you didn’t lie to Grandma Winnie. She’s not gone to the grave believing in a big fat _non-truth_ , or however you put it.” He smiles, small and delicate again. “Has she?” He prompts, and suddenly he’s saying more than just those two words.

_Emotions: Query: Harry._

_Emotions: Query: Harry._

“Um… no, okay.” Louis shakes his head, then nods it, then stops and frowns. It makes Harry chuckle again, all deep and beautiful.

“Okay.” He squeezes both of Louis’ hands and silence falls between them for a while. The rain is still falling relentlessly, drowning the garden and thudding against the shelter above their heads.

Louis is deep in thought, only half-aware of the sounds of the weather and the faint chattering of the guests inside. He feels a bit selfish now, actually. Today was supposed to be entirely devoted to making sure Harry is okay, not to be spent sorting out Louis’ internal moral demons. _What a dick._

“Hey, you remember that first class I taught you?” Harry’s voice drags Louis from the depths of his own mind and he blinks. 

“Hm? Yeah? _Oh god_ , Harry, let’s not revisit that. I was a right cocky shit towards you.” Louis rips his hands from Harry’s so he can bury his face in them.

Harry chuckles and reaches over to pull them away again, linking their fingers and resting them back on the table.

“You were.” Harry quips, “but that’s not why I brought it up. I actually wanted to talk about the music I’d chosen.”

“Ludovico Einaudi.” Louis supplies without missing a beat.

Harry nods with a hum, smirking a little, “You had a very strong opinion over that choice, I recall.”

“I thought you said that _isn’t_ why you brought it up.” Louis groans.

“No, it’s not, it’s not.” Harry laughs. “It’s actually because Grandma Winnie introduced me to him. Well, introduced me to his music. You remember in 2012 when London held the Olympics?”

Louis frowns, wondering why that’s relevant. “Um, yeah?”

Harry nods.

“They used his piece, _Divenere_ , for one of the adverts on the radio, I think.” He explains, then his face softens into a fond smile and he drops his eyes to the table. “She told me she’d heard the most beautiful piece of music in the world.” 

Louis eyes prickle, tears threatening to fall just from one sentence. 

“And ever since I heard it too, I was instantly in love with his composition. He has a way of making you feel delicate when you listen to his softer pieces, and empowered when you listen to his earthier ones.” 

Louis nods, gradually understanding. “And that’s perfect for dance, really.” He supplies, hoping that’s where Harry was headed. 

Sure enough, Harry’s face breaks into a grin and he’s nodding too.

“Exactly.” He breathes. “You may have noticed we organised to have _Divenere_ played during the service today. She’d have loved-” He takes a long blink as he cuts himself off, obviously in the same predicament as Louis. His efforts aren’t quite as successful though, and he retracts his hands from Louis’ and sits forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as a tear slides rebelliously down his cheek.

“ _Oh, Haz_.” Louis sighs, standing up without thinking and moving to crouch at Harry’s feet. As more tears fall, Louis cradles Harry’s face in his hands and swipes them away with his thumbs. _Fuck, I wish I could take all this away_ , he doesn’t say aloud. Instead, he stands again so he can press a long, close-mouthed kiss to Harry’s brow, closing his eyes and willing some of Harry’s sadness away that way.

Harry’s hands come up to hold at Louis’ wrists where he’s cradling his head, and Louis hears him take a steady in-breath.

They stay there for a moment, the both of them. Louis listens as Harry breathes, shuddery and broken.

“She’ll be up there scolding you for letting yourself get like this.” He attempts quietly, hoping it’s accurate enough to make Harry feel a bit better. “Probably scolding me too, for not doing enough about it.” 

“ _No, Lou-_ ” Harry chokes out. He sniffs. “-you’re doing fine, you’re-… Being here is enough, I promise.” He breathes, voice barely above a whisper. His thumbs begin to stroke at the soft insides of Louis’ wrists and after a short while, Louis pulls back to crouch again, looking up at him openly.

Harry just looks right back, watery eyes locked onto Louis’ with such energy inside them that Louis’ unsure of how long he can maintain the eye contact. It’s like they’re speaking without talking. _Emotions: Query: Harry._  

“Thank you.” Harry finally says, voice still a little choked.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly and smiles, staying exactly where he is.

“I’ve already told you, you don’t have to thank me for anything.” 

“Yeah, well, we’re not…” Harry pauses, dropping his eyes to his lap momentarily, then meeting Louis’ again. “As long as you didn’t feel obliged because-”

“Oh, shut up.” Louis cuts him off, chuckling and moving to stand again – his legs had started losing blood flow. “Come here.”

Harry stands into the offer of Louis’ outstretched arms, curling himself into them in that way that he can somehow do despite standing nearly a whole head taller than the older man. Louis wraps his arms tightly around Harry’s shoulders, letting Harry stoop to bury his face in Louis’ neck. Louis has quickly learned it’s Harry’s favourite way to hug.

“ _I’m so grateful to have you, Lou_.” Harry whispers into his skin. “ _I hope you know that_.” 

Louis doesn’t really know what to say to that, heart hammering suddenly. _Emotions: Query: Harry._ He just squeezes Harry a little bit closer and turns his head to press a kiss to the side of his neck. Then eventually, after Harry has squeezed him back in return and nuzzled a little bit further into him, he sucks in a quick breath of _Harry_ and closes his eyes.

“You’ve got me.” He breathes. “And for the record, I’m extremely grateful that you do.”

 

***

 

Filing thoughts away in neat little mental-compartments to come back to later only works, Louis finds, if you’re able to discard them from your main train of thought in the first place. 

His section marked “Emotions: Query: Harry” is brimming with material, and Louis can’t close the door. He never could. 

He realises, with a start, that the only way to get a bit of control over the fact that his thoughts are of Harry more often than they’re not, is to get them out somehow. Put them somewhere where they aren’t just trapped inside his own head and eating him alive.

“Can we talk?”

“Oh! _Jesus_ , Louis! Warn a girl!” Perrie presses a hand to her chest and rolls her eyes, shifting her bag on her shoulder as she pushes the door open and holds it for Louis too. “Of course, we can. Now?”

Louis nods, following her out into the studio carpark. 

“Can I come back to yours?” He asks, bracing himself against the chill outside. 

“Harry won’t mind?” Perrie cheekily quips, tugging on her scarf.

“We don’t always do stuff after every class, Pez. We still have separate lives.” Louis snaps, probably a bit too harshly.

“Shit, okay, no need to bite my head off.” The blonde scoffs as they head towards her car. “What did you want to talk about anyway?”

Louis sighs, waiting until he’s safely in the passenger seat with the door closed before biting the bullet.

“I think I’m falling for him, Pez.” 

Perrie pauses in her actions of turning the engine on, eyes widening, mouth dropping open and then curling into a beaming grin that glitters excitedly behind her cerulean eyes.

“We’re gonna need some wine.” The engine roars to life. “We’re taking a detour to Tesco.”

Armed with three bottles of Pink Moscato and enough chocolate-covered pretzels to sink a battle ship, Perrie lets them both into her flat and instructs Louis to grab them some wine glasses. They settle on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa, Perrie crossing her legs under herself and wiggling in excitement.

“Jade owes me a tenner, I fucking knew it.” 

“What?!” Louis squawks, nearly spilling his wine down his chin. “You made bets? Fucks sake, Perrie…” 

“I bet that you’d realise before the production, and Jade bet that you’d realise after.” The blonde grins, cheeks dimpling. “I win.”

Louis rolls his eyes and takes a larger mouthful of wine. _How is this helping…_

“So…” Perrie nudges, reaching for a pretzel. “When did this become more than ‘god he’s hot in skinny jeans’?”

Louis sets her a look. _Really?_

“Well, obviously there were a few signs of something more going on at the competition.” She credits. “No one cares _that_ much about the career-success of a fuck-buddy-”

“Perrie!” Louis shouts, voice pitching higher than he’d have liked.

“Oh, come on!” She dismisses his outburst and rolls her eyes. “And the way you just ignored every one when you came off stage after the results? The way you _kissed_ him!” 

“Perrie, _please_. Can we just leave all that for a second? I need to talk properly about this, it’s fucking with my head.”

Perrie seems to calm then, chewing on a pretzel and nodding. She reaches for her wine glass and settles back against the sofa.

“Of course.” She nods. “I’m all ears, babe.”

Louis doesn’t really know where to start. So he begins with the point she made, and tells her about how the competition seemed to be a turning point for whatever it is he and Harry qualify as. In his mind, anyway. He also regretfully informs her of the near-hit at the hotel that night and Madam Charee’s horrendous timing – Perrie cackles so loudly that Louis worries her wine glass might crack. He tells her about the missed massage – leaving out the specific details of the next morning, though what he does include is enough to have her raise her eyebrows and wiggle them like a maniac. He tells her about how he misses their Wednesday sessions, how he found Harry in tears at the studio party those few weeks ago, how Harry had asked him to go to the funeral with him, how his heart had ached as he’d watched Harry cry and crumble in on himself with absolutely no way of helping him out of it. He tells her about what he’d said to Grandma Winnie and how Harry had maybe/maybe not hinted that it’s not so far from the truth anymore. He tells her that above all else, he’s sickened with worry that Harry just cares about how he sees himself as a dancer, wants Louis to build his self-esteem because that’s what dance teacher’s _do_ , and maybe the sexual stuff is all just a bonus in Harry’s eyes. He sincerely hopes that’s not the case, but Louis is always the best at playing devil’s advocate with himself.

“Babe. I don’t think Harry sees you as some kind of teaching project and a hole to fuck.” Perrie says, incredibly bluntly. _Thanks, Pink Moscato._   “You’re going to tell me I’m talking out of my arse, but honestly, you don’t see the way he looks at you.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, his mind briefly paying attention to the ‘hole to fuck’ comment and chanting a short, _you’re not even that though,_ before he drops the thought completely and focuses on that last thing Perrie had said. 

“Pez…” He sighs. “Please, just don’t. I don’t want to-”

“Get your hopes up?” Perrie supplies, a knowing look in her eye. “I mean; you know how you feel more than anyone else does. But personally, I wouldn’t stop myself from wondering those sorts of things if I were in your situation. Not that I can read Harry’s mind or anything, but I’m just saying. I wouldn’t let _not_ knowing stop me, in fact it would probably make me want to find out more!” She giggles. “Besides, it would be incredibly surprising if it turned out he’s not in this at least _somewhat_ emotionally. I repeat, you don’t see the way he looks at you.” 

“Perrie, what are you saying-”

“Nothing! I don’t know anything for sure, I’m just saying. You know, for the sake of voicing my opinion.” She begins, meeting Louis’ eyes. “Don’t try and sink this thing when you haven’t given it a chance to float yet.” 

“That was a shit metaphor.”

Perrie hits him on the arm.

“I’m _trying_ , you shit! Basically, Louis, you can’t know for sure that Harry isn’t having this exact same crisis right now.”

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, but I can’t know that he _is_ , either. He could have this whole thing making sense in his head, this could all be pure and simple to him. He’s helping me with my self-esteem, as he’s said countless times by the way, and oh whoops, we’re also touching each other a bit. He could have this all worked out and be fine with it.”

“A bit?”

“Not important.” Louis cuts in. 

Perrie is quiet for a moment. They both move to sip their wine at the same time and it makes her giggle. After a beat, she places her free hand heavily on Louis’ knee in what she must think is a reassuring pat.

“All I’m saying is that you can’t stop yourself from entertaining the idea that he might be feeling the same-” 

“Perrie, you can’t possibly know that-”

“Because then you’ve done nothing. Have you?” She ignores his interruption and tilts her head at him. “You’re just sat there forever, feeling this way and always wondering if there’s something you could’ve done about it, but never _actually doing anything_ about it because you’re scared your feelings aren’t reciprocated. And yeah, that’s a scary thought, but sitting and doing nothing instead, just because it feels _safer_ … well, that’s just ridiculous. Because then you’ll never know.” She shrugs one shoulder and takes another sip of wine. “You’ve basically got to decide which feeling you’d prefer, LouLou. The sitting-always-wondering-but-safe feeling, or the scary-do-something-about-it-but-actually-know feeling.” 

Miraculously, Louis manages to keep up with what she’s trying to say. There’s a weight in his chest and a churning in his stomach and he takes a hearty mouthful of Pink Moscato to try and calm it all. It only works a little. 

“You’re right.” He finally sighs. “Fuck, you’re fucking right.” 

“Of course I fucking am.” Perrie grins, taking another sip. “Now, shall we see what’s on the telly?”

 

***

 

Rehearsals continue productively over the following week, and eventually the light returns fully to Harry’s eyes. When he looks at himself in the mirror one morning, the heavy bags of tiredness and the thin lines of worry around his mouth and brow are fainter than before, and there’s a colour in his eyes that he hasn’t seen since the phone call from his mum. Better.

“How are they feeling?” He asks as Louis moves over to the _barre_ in his new _pointe_ shoes and starts rising up onto his toes. “Still okay?”

“Mhm.” Louis nods.

Harry frowns, watching Louis rise up and down slowly a few times, his blue eyes fixed on his feet. 

“Everything okay?” He checks, wondering why the smaller man is so strangely quiet.

“Yeah,” Louis looks up then, meeting Harry’s eyes and smiling. He probably thinks it’s convincing. Harry doesn’t press.

The lesson continues on, Harry takes Louis through the basics of _pointe_ work, and Louis laps it up eagerly, ever the quick-learner when he’s doing something he enjoys.

“To be honest, Lou, I don’t see why you can’t start wearing these for Friday’s classes.” Harry says once Louis is able to free-stand on his toes without the aid of the _barre_ or Harry’s arms. He’s executing absent little _piques_ as he tests out his balance, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I’d say we leave your duet classes for now, don’t want to overdo it. But it can’t hurt to start bringing them into rehearsals every now and then. We really need to loosen those shanks.” 

Louis nods and lowers back onto flat feet again. 

Harry watches as he quietly removes the _pointe_ shoes and puts them away in his bag, throwing on a worn hoodie over his ballet unitard and slipping his feet into Vans in silence. 

_This won’t do at all._

“Oi.” Harry mumbles, gently. He moves over to stand beside where Louis is bending to pick up his things. “Something’s going on. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, Harry.” Louis stands and paints on his best nonplussed expression, pairing it with a half-hearted shrug. Harry sees right through it.

He pushes the dance bag off of Louis’ shoulder, hearing it thud to the studio floor, and uses the undone zip of Louis’ hoodie to tug him closer, so he can eventually wrap his arms fully around the smaller man’s waist, bending a bit to accommodate the height difference. Louis’ arms instinctively come up around Harry’s shoulders and a small smile does flicker at his mouth.

“You’re lying to me.” Harry murmurs, smirking. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?” 

“What, I can’t have secrets anymore?” Louis huffs, peppering it with an empty laugh.

Harry sucks in a breath and straightens, which pulls Louis up onto his toes, more of his weight hanging from Harry’s neck than before. 

“Fair enough.” Harry nods. “Everyone is allowed some secrecy in their lives. But if I get the impression that whatever-this-is is really eating you up then I’m allowed to ask again, okay?”

Louis pulls a face that Harry hasn’t seen very often. 

“Why do you care though?” 

Harry blanches, all amusement dropping from his features as he stares at Louis, confused.

“Sorry? Why do I care?” He repeats, utterly baffled. “Louis, you know I care about you-” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Let’s just-…” He drops his arms from around Harry’s neck. “Let’s talk about something non-dance related for a bit, yeah? I’m sick of hearing about my shitty self-esteem issues.” He pushes himself out of Harry’s hold and picks his bag up again. “You hungry?” 

“Lou…I…Wh-” 

“Harry. I said let’s not, okay? We can come back to it later. I just want to… I just want some food right now, to be honest.” He sighs, eyes dropping from Harry’s as he moves past him towards the doors. “Do you wanna come with, or?” 

“Um, yeah… Yeah, sure, let’s go.” Harry nods, still incredibly lost and a little bit worried about Louis’ behaviour. With no music system to shut down, he just quickly grabs his bag and coat and follows Louis out the studio doors without another word.

 

***

 

Louis is in hell. He’s in actual, soul-roasting, existence-erasing hell. 

Ever since coming to terms with the fact that Harry makes his heart do strange things, and realising what that _means_ , any contact he’s had with the man has been stifled and confusing and strange. And he doesn’t even really know _why_.

It’s all well and good realising that he’s got to make a decision. But Louis still hasn’t got the courage to do that yet. He still doesn’t know what the _fuck_ to do, it’s all too much to think about. So instead he’s floating around trying to ignore his stupid feelings and take everything Harry says with a pinch of salt, whilst at the same time longing for his words to mean _so much more_ than they probably do. 

_“You know I care about you.”_ Exhibit-Fucking-A.

Hell.

And hell does strange things to one’s mind, too. Which is probably why he’s outside Harry’s flat at almost eleven-thirty at night.

“Hello?” Harry’s baritone scuffs sleepily through the intercom speaker and even that makes Louis’ insides curl in the most unpleasant of pleasant ways. 

“Um, hi? It’s me.”

The door immediately clicks open with an electronic buzz, and no sooner has Louis stepped out of the lift on Harry’s floor, the taller man is standing in the corridor waiting for him.

“Are you okay? What’s happened?”

His gorgeous face is crumpled with concern and his voice is too high and too worried. He’s standing in the cold hallway in nothing but wrinkled pyjama trousers and his hair is falling messily out of its bun. His cheeks are touched with pink and his eyes, filled with worry, are puffy and only really half open. He looks for all the world like he just woke up, yet he’s standing there asking Louis if he’s okay. _Christ_.

Louis takes the extra few steps across the corridor towards him and promptly pulls him down by the neck with both hands, catching his mouth in a kiss that has Harry let out a tiny noise of surprise against his lips. Large hands come to rest at Louis’ waist and Louis sighs against Harry’s mouth, wishing on all wishes ever in existence that there could just be some sort of divine intervention that would tell him exactly how Harry’s feeling. _What am I to him?_

Harry eventually pulls him inside the flat, where it’s warmer and brighter and smells like Italian food. The door bangs shut behind Louis and then he’s suddenly being pressed against it, Harry’s mouth moving to kiss hotly along his jawline and it’s lovely. It’s quickening his pulse and setting his skin on fire, but it’s also all too much. Louis’ mind starts to do that thing again where his thoughts crash into one another and stop making logical sense. _Is this just sex to him? Am I really some project that also sleeps over? I’m not even a hole he’s fucking but that might be all I become? He said he cares? About what? Me or my self-esteem? Fuck._  

“Harry- Haz, stop-” Louis wriggles out from under Harry’s grip, noticing the stinging ache of a bruise forming just behind his left ear and cursing at how good it feels. He closes his eyes for a second. “Can we just-… I need you to not…” _For fuck’s sake._

“God, Lou, I’m sorry. Shit. Um… I’ll get us both a drink. Are you hungry? There’s some lasagna left?”

Harry is too pure. He’s too good. Surely he doesn’t have it in him to only see Louis as a project and a sex toy? _Jesus. Louis, shut up._

“Just some water is fine. Thank you.” He makes sure to smile, very aware that Harry still looks incredibly concerned.

They settle on the sofa. The TV is showing the news and the cushion beneath Louis’ left hip is squashed and a little dented. Harry was probably asleep on the sofa when Louis buzzed to be let in. He sips at his water and stretches his ankles, rolling his feet a few times.

“Is everything really okay, Lou? You’re starting to worry me.” 

“No, yeah…” Louis nods, taking another mouthful before putting the glass down on the coffee table and scooching to lay himself against Harry’s warm side. _Harry doesn’t deserve this shit._

“You’re not doing well to convince me.” Harry says, bringing a hand up to stroke his fingers through Louis’ hair. “You would tell me? Wouldn’t you? If there’s something I’ve done-” 

“Oh my god, Harry. _No_.” Louis sits up again, meeting Harry’s eyes. He can see the little flecks of darker green in them from this close. “ _No_ , this is… This isn’t you. It’s definitely me.”

Harry searches his face for a moment, hand still lifted where it was part-way through Louis’ hair. His mouth clicks when he parts it to speak. 

“Then what can I do to help you? Tell me, Lou.” His eyes settle on Louis’ mouth for a second. “I want to help you.” 

_We seem to be wanting to heal each other a lot recently._ “Talk to me about Russia.”

This, apparently, is far from what Harry had been expecting Louis to ask him to do. He frowns, blinking a few times before meeting Louis’ eyes and smiling softly.

“You want to hear about Russia?” 

Louis nods. He really does, actually. Why have they never talked about Russia before? It’s such a huge part of Harry’s life. It’s such a huge part of why they met, come to think of it. 

“Okay.” Harry’s smile widens and he gently pushes Louis’ head for him to lay down against him again. “Russia, then… Where to start…”

 

***

 

“- and from then on it sort of became our thing, I guess? I was terrible at spotting and he taught me how to do it. I was terrible at elevating my _soubresaut_ and he helped me gain height.”

It’s almost one in the morning but Louis couldn’t feel less tired. Harry’s stories of his training in Russia just keep coming, one after the other, and each one is more exciting than the last. Little anecdotes about the first time he was late to a class, or the time he forgot his ballet tights and had to wear his unitard without any. They’re all little pieces of how Harry became the dancer he is now, how he became the person he is now, going by how often he mentions one thing or another being a “life-changing moment”.

This latest story though, Louis could do without. Harry is talking about a fellow dancer he met during two weeks spent with a touring company for one of his placements. Which is fine, accept Louis may or may not be in love with the man he’s cuddled up against, and hearing him talk about how amazing this Russian ballet professional was is grating on his nerves. 

“What was his name?” He finds himself asking.

“Oh… um, it was Ruslan. But everyone called him Russell.” Harry answers, fingers now dancing up and down Louis’ upper arm.

“Russell.” Louis mutters to himself. “And what was he like?”

“What was he like?” Harry repeats. “He was… nice. Approachable, which was rare.” He chuckles. “We got on well, I’d say.”

“Really?” Louis scoffs.

“Oi, what’s that about?” Harry laughs a little, dipping his chin to look at the man on his chest. “We got on, you asked what he was like-” 

“Were you together?” 

This seems to stump Harry a bit, because he doesn’t answer straight away, and as the silence falls thicker between them, Louis feels his chest grow tighter, not even ashamed to admit to himself that what starts flaring inside him is definitely jealousy.

“We…” Harry starts, and Louis hears him swallow. “Well, I can’t say things between Russell and I stayed strictly platonic, no.”

“Sort of like us, then?” Louis bites, playing with a hangnail on his left index finger and pointedly _not_ craning his neck to meet Harry’s eyes. 

“Well, no-… We’re not…”

Louis feels his resolve start to crack. 

“Not the same?” He presses. It’s probably cruel of him to be doing this but he can’t stop himself. “That’s cool, I get it.”

Harry quickly jumps in.

“No, Lou… I meant we-”

“What? It’s fine, Harry.” Louis pushes his right thumbnail into his nailbed. “I get it. Russell was a special thing.” He’s making very little sense. “It must’ve been romantic, meeting him in a different country, dancing with him, eating Russian pastries together-” 

“Okay,” Harry sits himself up, tugging Louis up with him. “Now you’re being silly. I was on that placement for barely two weeks, Louis.” He turns Louis in his arms a bit so he can see his face. 

Louis keeps his eyes on his own hands as he asks his next question, feeling Harry’s gaze on him but not able to meet it. 

“So you slept together?"

Harry pauses before answering.

“Lou, why has Russell gotten you so-”

“ _Please_ ,” Louis breathes, controlling himself. Jealousy roars loudly in the confines of his ribcage. “Just answer me, Harry.”

“I mean… I did say it wasn’t platonic, so you can probably work that out, Louis. Not that I’m entirely convinced you really need to know-” 

Louis cuts him off with a frustrated growl, images of this Russell bloke with his hands all over Harry, holding him, kissing his skin and marking him up and it’s just too much for Louis’ heart. He suddenly doesn’t care about finding out his answers. Let this be unrequited if it must. All he knows is that the way Harry makes him feel does _not_ mix well with hearing about past lovers, and Louis is going to selfishly do everything he can to erase all thoughts of Russell from Harry’s mind. Even if it’s probably a lost battle already.

He’s straddling Harry’s lap before he has time to register he’s even moved, and his mouth is on Harry’s the second his brain catches up. 

Harry’s noises of confusion gradually become ones of interest, and his hands fly up to grip at Louis’ hips, feeling as the smaller man grinds their crotches together.

Louis rolls his hips down and releases Harry’s hair from the tie, letting it tumble down and around his shoulders so he can card his fingers through it. Harry moans into his mouth when he tugs a little, and Louis ribs at Harry’s bottom lip possessively, tugging again. 

“Mm- _fuck_ ,” Harry pulls away, canting his hips up into the cradle of Louis’, “What’s gotten into you?”

Louis doesn’t reply, just latches his mouth onto Harry’s neck instead and speeds up the roll of his hips.

“ _Louis_ …” Harry breathes, tilting his head to give Louis more room to work with. “Baby, what is this? I thought-”

“Don’t call me that.” Louis bites, and then actually does, sinking his teeth gently into Harry’s skin, just enough to leave a mark behind. “M’not your baby, Harry.” 

“What?” Harry hisses at the pain but pulls himself away from Louis’ mouth, their hips still moving absently against each other. 

“Am I?” Louis sits up and glares, blue eyes icy as he forces his hips down harder. It makes Harry bite his lip but Louis ignores it. “I’m not even your _anything_ , really. Technically.” He says. “But then apparently neither was Russell, so maybe that’s just how you-”

Harry stops moving beneath him. “Lou, maybe we should-”

Louis quickly grips hold of Harry’s hands where they’re splayed at his hips. “Don’t you dare.”

“We need to talk, Lou, don’t we? We should-”

Louis slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth, fueled by thoughts of Russell in Harry’s lap instead, doing whatever he likes to him. No fucking way are they stopping to talk. 

“We can talk after you fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes widen, hips shifting beneath Louis’ weight again. His throat clicks as he swallows and Louis smirks above him, raising a single eyebrow.

Harry understands what he’s asking and nods, agreeing. Good. Talking after fucking.

And with that, Louis climbs off of Harry’s lap, reaching for the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and slipping his fingers beneath it. Harry lifts his hips to help Louis get them off, and then he’s naked, chest heaving and half-hard cock bobbing with every breath. It’s sort of like a promise when he lifts his hands to tie his hair back again, meeting Louis’ eyes with a smirk of his own. 

Louis’ hands fly to unbutton his jeans and get them off. His boxers follow, and once he’s back astride Harry, the heat of their lower bodies mingling as their hips begin to meet again, Harry peppers Louis’ jaw with kisses as he pulls off the slight man’s shirt.

They’re probably about to ruin Harry’s lovely leather sofa, but Louis is quickly deterred from that thought when Harry’s hands are suddenly pushing and pulling at the flesh of his arse, using it to guide Louis’ grinding deeper against him and groaning right in Louis’ ear at the feel.

Louis’ eyes roll back in his head. 

“Oh, _fuck_ … that’s good-” 

Harry lets out a pleased hum against Louis’ ear before moving to catch his mouth quickly, possessive little snatchy kisses that make Louis’ toes tingle.

“Just so you know…” Harry murmurs, large hands still kneading at Louis’ arse, “I don’t know if this has anything to do with why you’re in such a mood, but-” 

He’s cut off by Louis digging his nails into the skin of his shoulders, warning. He just chuckles.

“ _But_ …” he continues, “Russell never made me feel the way you do.”

And of course. Harry’s not stupid, of course he cottoned on to that. Shit. Louis feels a bubble of humiliation burst in his gut, but it’s quickly overtaken by pleasure when Harry slips two fingers down between his cheeks to brush dryly over his hole. 

Louis keens in Harry’s lap, rocking forwards and trapping both their cocks between their bellies. It’s a delicious drag for a few seconds, but it’s quickly over because Louis is rocking back again, chasing the feeling of Harry’s fingers against him. He continues this for a few moments before he needs more, and he’s reaching round to grab at Harry’s hand, stopping him.

“Where’s…” he manages, still working on the motion of his hips, keeping Harry hard and leaking. “Lube?”

Harry takes that as an instruction to move them to the bedroom, because he’s standing without a word, gripping Louis easily with two hands under his bum. It makes Louis gasp and he hears Harry’s deep chuckle as he walks them through his flat to his room. 

“Your little size kink is really quite arousing.” He murmurs as he lowers a flushed Louis to the bed and immediately drapes himself over him, kissing him again.

“Mmm…” Louis hums, intending to bite back some sort of retort but utterly halted in his tracks by the way Harry’s mouth claims his. He brings a leg up alongside Harry’s hip and uses his planted foot to roll his body up against the taller man, arms splayed out either side of his head as Harry licks into him.

Eventually, Harry stops kissing Louis long enough to retrieve lube and a condom from the bedside drawer. Louis works a hand languidly over himself while he waits, admiring the dip of Harry’s back and the strength of his thighs as he kneels and stretches over to reach the drawer.

“You’re so fucking attractive, Harry. Why do you do this to me?” He whines, earning a laugh from the younger man.

Harry returns with the necessaries and drops them on the bed beside Louis’ body for now, opting to lean down and kiss him instead. He pulls away long enough to mutter, “says you”, before attaching his mouth to Louis’ collarbone instead.

Louis sighs, arching up into Harry’s touch as he works his mouth down his body. There’s so much he wants to do. He wants to flip Harry over and mark up his neck and chest, wants to pin down his wrists and torture those lovely nipples, wants to have Harry panting underneath him. But right now, he mainly just wants Harry inside him, so all of that will have to wait.

Harry reaches the fluttering muscles of Louis’ abdomen and smooths a hand down the outer length of his thigh as he mouths just to the left of his cock, eyes flicking up to meet Louis’.

“God, such a fucking _tease_ …” Louis arches up again, chasing Harry’s mouth, but Harry pins his hips down with one large hand to the lowest part of his belly and, well. Yes. 

Louis can do nothing but lay there and breathe as Harry grabs the lube in his free hand and dribbles some onto his fingers haphazardly.

Since that morning after he’d spent the night here smelling of bath salts and clean linen, Louis has never been able to get the image of Harry’s talented mouth out of his mind. There’s no denying Harry has a knack for giving head, and well, Louis’ not about to stop him if that’s what he wants to do as he lazily works Louis open with one finger, the smaller man’s thighs thrown over Harry’s broad shoulders.

Louis wants to watch, wants to see the way Harry’s mouth works around him, how his biceps bunch beneath his skin as he works with one arm underneath Louis’ leg to reach his hole and the other is planted overtop his thigh to keep his hold on Louis’ pelvis. Louis wants to watch, but the wet heat of Harry’s mouth combined with the burning pleasure as he slides a second finger in beside the first has Louis eyes fluttering shut and his head dropping back against the mattress.

Louis’ hips twitch under Harry’s hold when Harry crooks his fingers inside him, the tips _just_ shy of brushing that spot inside Louis that has him breathing out a string of curse words. 

Harry’s next attempt hits home, sparking gloriously up Louis spine and making him cry out, hands flying to grab at Harry’s head in warning. His stomach is rolling underneath Harry’s hand and his chest is rising and falling in quick pants, dangerously, _dangerously_ close to the edge as Harry takes him down to the hilt.

Just as Louis thinks he’s about to come down Harry’s throat, the younger man pulls off with a pop, and stills his fingers. As Louis sinks slowly away from the edge again, he realises Harry is now three fingers deep inside him and he figures he’s waited long enough.

“Enough, Harry- _Fuck_. Want you-” 

Harry hums, slowly retracting his fingers and pressing a kiss to Louis’ thigh when he hisses at the loss. He’s quick to roll the condom onto himself, and Louis watches as he grips himself tightly at the base for a few seconds afterwards.

“Close too?” He quips, and lets his legs fall open in invitation as Harry repositions himself a few moments later.

“You’ve no idea how hot you looked just then.” Is Harry’s reply, and Louis can’t stop his grin, relishing in how affected Harry looks. His eyes are dark and full of intent and his hand is still holding his cock at the base, his free one coming to pet at Louis’ right hip as he lines himself up. He holds Louis’ eyes for a second in silent question, and Louis shakes his head.

“C’mere.” He says, reaching for Harry.

Harry is careful to keep himself lined up right as he stretches over the length of Louis’ body to meet his mouth in a heated kiss. He sucks on Louis’ tongue and hums, and just as Louis catches Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth, Harry slowly pushes in.

“Mm!” Louis lets out a noise of surprise against his mouth and then pulls away to gasp. “Shit…” 

“Okay?” Harry checks, slowly moving out again. 

Louis is nodding desperately, lips pressed into a tight line.

“ _God_ , yeah… Yeah.”

After a few more shallow thrusts, Harry gradually works himself all the way in, and by the time his hips meet Louis’, the smaller man is clutching at the duvet beneath him, eyes screwed shut. Harry must take Louis’ bitten order of ‘fucking move’ as a good thing, because he plants his hands either side of Louis’ head and starts fucking him properly.

“Ah! _Oh_ …fuck, yes, _Harry_ …”

Louis clutches at Harry’s forearms, craning his neck up as pleasure overtakes him. Harry swiftly latches his mouth onto Louis’ throat and brings out a quick mark, hitting Louis’ prostate dead-on with every punch of his hips and _this isn’t going to last long._

“Harry, Harry- _fuck_ … wait, wait…” Louis pants, squeezing at Harry’s arms. Harry slows his movements, and Louis opens his eyes, almost cursing again at the sight above him. Harry’s hair is falling out of the bun again, and his eyes are blown and hooded, his plush mouth red from its attentions at Louis’ neck. The vein in his throat is jumping and his strong jawline is clenched, obviously finding it hard to slow down for Louis. Fuck.

“Wanna…” Louis manages, “Wanna turn over.” Honestly, looking up at Harry like that would _definitely_ have this whole thing ending too quickly.

“Ok, baby.” Harry nods and slowly pulls out, then winces at the pet name slip-up. “Sorry, I know you said…” 

“It’s ok.” Louis breathes as he gets himself over and onto his knees. He stays kneeling up though, an idea forming. With a smirk, he turns to look at Harry over his shoulder, and shuffles backwards into the cradle of his frame, feeling his hard cock nestle between his cheeks and the resulting groan that it brings from Harry’s throat.

Harry’s hands come to grip at Louis’ hips, shamelessly burying his face into Louis’ neck and rutting forward against him. It makes Louis’ dick twitch between his legs and he drops his head back against Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s ok.” He says again, starting to rock himself back against the heat of Harry. “I wanna be your baby, Haz.” He breathes, not caring how ridiculous he probably sounds. “Fuck me like I’m yours.” He adds, turning his head to whisper it hotly right against the shell of Harry’s ear.

And Harry clearly doesn’t need any more than that. With a growl, he reaches down to reposition himself before thrusting back into Louis so hard it has the smaller man crying out and falling to catch himself on his hands.

“ _Fuck!_ Shit… oh, god…”

Harry’s pace is relentless, his mouth marking up the backs of Louis’ shoulders as he pounds into him, his hands tight on Louis’ hips. He’s draped himself over Louis’ back, causing Louis’ thighs to spread further apart at the weight, knees sliding wider on the bed beneath him.

“Fuck, look at you…” Harry groans against the nape of Louis’ neck, sending shivers rocketing down his spine. “So spread out for me, Lou. So good…” He grits out, pace pitching up a notch.

Louis is so close it hurts, Harry’s mouth hot on the back of his neck as he fucks into him. He can feel how tightly Harry is gripping him and it just makes him moan louder the next time Harry hits his spot. He is totally at Harry’s mercy right now. He feels owned. He feels good.

“Shit… M’close, Lou-”

Louis gasps, pushing back and meeting every single one of Harry’s thrusts now as he chases his high too.

“ _Fuck, Harry…”_

Harry’s hips snap three times in quick succession and then he’s letting out that same groan he did the first time Louis heard him come, deep and guttural and spine-tingling. It’s enough to send Louis’ hurtling over the edge too and he’s about to quickly grasp his cock, except Harry is there first, and pleasure bursts in his gut as he keens high in his throat and comes, dropping his head between his shoulders as he finishes with Harry’s name on his lips.

Harry is gentle as he pulls out, and presses soft kisses to the places where he’d been gripping at Louis’ hips. He disappears, presumably into the bathroom, and Louis pushes himself to kneel up again, looking down at the wet patch with a wince. 

“I ruined your duvet, fuck.” He mutters when Harry returns with a damp cloth. He takes it from him to wipe at his stomach and chest – and _chin_ , shit.

“I ruined your arse. We’re square.” Harry quips, then chuckles when Louis swats at him. “No, but seriously. It’s probably a good thing there’s no classes tomorrow, because if you’re able to walk after that then I’ve not done my job right.”

Louis rolls his eyes at first, then laughs too. His gaze falls on the clock.

“Shit. That, and it’s almost 2am.”

They strip the ruined duvet cover off the bed and climb underneath it cover-less, Harry curling into Louis’ side and resting his head on his chest.

“Fuck, did you-…? You actually bit me at one point there, didn’t you?” Louis brings a hand to the back of his neck, wincing when it stings under his touch.

Harry buries his face against Louis’ chest and doesn’t reply straight away.

“It’s a thing I do when I come, I’m sorry.” He mumbles. “For the record you seemed to like it?” 

Louis just smiles, carding his fingers up from Harry’s hairline, applying enough pressure to have Harry relaxing against him. He doesn’t say anything else, just watches as Harry falls asleep. Harry left the bathroom light on so it means Louis can watch in calm silence as Harry’s features soften into slumber.

Tomorrow’s talk is already stirring heavy nerves in Louis’ stomach, but he does his best to ignore them. The worst thing he can do right now is lose even more sleep worrying about it. So he focuses on Harry’s breathing instead, his hand still atop his hair, and eventually, his consciousness fades. 

His dreams are filled with green eyes.


	22. XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talks happen. Things don't actually feel all that different. Apart from they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finally managed to work out a total number of chapters for this fic! As you can see, there're only three chapters left... :( I know. It's sad. But I'm excited to get involved in new stuff too. I won't be posting another fic quite this long for a while, though. Gonna focus on short-and-sweet (or short-and-steamy, depending). 
> 
> (While I'm here I just want to give a heartfelt shoutout to Liv_it_Up124. I can't thank you enough for your comments lately. They truly make my day every time I get to read them, and our resulting little conversations. So, thank you.)
> 
> Also, as always, big thank you's to EVERYONE who comments and/or leaves kudos. :) 
> 
> Enjoy this one! (I really hope you do.)

It’s probably a bit wrong - and Louis is _very_ aware that it’s definitely a stall tactic – when, after laying awake for a solid thirty minutes dreading the moment Harry wakes up, upon the taller man beside him heaving in a deep, languid breath, he immediately ducks below the duvet and locates Harry’s cock with his hand, guiding it, already semi-hard, to his mouth without preamble. 

Unfortunately, as stall tactics go, this one doesn’t stall for very long. Harry comes quickly, hands petting above the duvet at the back of Louis’ head, hips writhing. 

“I know exactly what that was, just so you know.” He says a few minutes later, voice still croaky from sleep. Louis is back above the covers and settled snugly against Harry’s chest. He just shrugs. 

“What?” He says, feigning innocence. “Me making up for the fact that I was yet to actually get my hands on you properly?”

But Harry is smirking, shaking his head.

“You know very well what that really was, Lou. Come on.” He shuffles himself – and subsequently Louis – further up the bed until his top half is propped up at more of an angle by the pillow and Louis’ head is more on his stomach than his chest. “We need to talk.”

Louis’ insides immediately churn and he pulls in a deep breath, bringing a hand up to stroke the pads of his fingers in absent patterns across the skin of Harry’s abdomen.

“Okay,” he begins, “Well, I should probably start by saying how much of a _mess_ yesterday was. I don’t really know what happened. I… I’m sorry for basically forcing myself on you.” He apologises, using the words he’d practiced saying over and over in his head before Harry had woken up. “My mind was all over the place, and I’m not saying that’s an excuse, not at all, I just…  Yeah.” He breathes in again, unsteady. “I wanted to get that out first, before… before anything else.” 

Harry’s hand is on the slope of Louis’ side, thumb stroking at the base of his ribcage. He gently tugs, so Louis rolls over onto his back with his head more on Harry’s chest again, meeting the green eyes of the man above him and smiling nervously. 

Harry places a stilling hand atop where Louis’ are now fidgeting together at his sternum. 

“First of all, if there was anything about last night that I wasn’t happy with, I’d have stopped it.” Harry clarifies, his gentle, sleep-crackled baritone providing Louis with a familiar comfort. “Second, you don’t need to apologise for feeling jealous about Russell-” 

“I wasn’t jealous.” Louis immediately cuts in, eyes hardening defensively.

Harry just chuckles, nodding. “Okay, love.” 

Louis blinks, still frowning, and swallows. 

Harry tries again. “Do you want to talk about the Russell thing? -” 

“There _isn’t_ a Russell thing-”

“You asked me if we’d slept together and then literally climbed in my lap the moment I gave you an answer you didn’t want.”

Louis stays silent. _Yeah, okay. He has a point._

He huffs, making Harry chuckle again and lift his arm a little so he can pet at Louis’ hair.

“Look, you shouldn’t have compared Russell and I to what _you_ and I have, Lou. Russell was…” He pauses. “Honestly? Russell was an overseas fling that yes, technically counted as my first real relationship,” Harry pauses again, meeting Louis’ eyes, “But it _absolutely_ did not, and cannot, hold a candle to how I feel about you.” 

The room suddenly feels heavy around Louis. The air is suddenly thick. The world seems to have stopped spinning on its axis and now the unforgiving weight of a non-moving atmosphere is pressing down on him. His bones feel heavy against the mattress; he’s aware of every part of his body that’s in contact with Harry’s and something inside him is thrumming. But he can’t dwell on it all for too long, because Harry is speaking again.

"Lou, what Russell was… He was a figure of authority to me; he was helping me with my placement. He swept me up in this dizzying haze because he was someone I dreamed of _being_. I don’t know, we were good friends, and I guess I idolised him a bit. A bit too much. When things started to happen, they just… just progressed physically and…” _Sounds_ _familiar_. “We’re… With you it’s very similar, yes, but it’s not… I’m not doing the same thing- I don't want you to worry that there's some big thing going on here that I'm not telling you about. Because that's _really_ not the case at all, and you deserve to know that."

Wait, what? There’s nothing Harry isn’t telling him about? 

 _There’s nothing Harry isn’t telling him about?_  

So, Perrie was wrong.

And Louis was right. This _is_ casual to Harry. This is a ‘fling’, the same as with Russell except it’s just lasting longer, it’s friendship and it’s sex. It’s not what Louis thought it might be. _Hoped_ it might be. _Fuck_. _No_.

Louis can’t breathe. His heavy limbs are stuck. The world needs to start spinning again and quick because this pressure in his chest is agonising and he can’t- 

“This isn't, like, some sick ‘power’ thing.” Harry’s continuing, confusing Louis even further. _Power thing? What?_  

“I'm not just... I'm not trying to work you into some twisted form of a dependant. If that makes sense?” Harry says, then continues without an answer to his question.

“This whole thing started off as me merely seeing your potential and _desperately_ wanting you to see it too. But... You need to know, Louis,” He pulls in a deep breath then, and Louis wishes Harry could breathe for both of them because his head is starting to pound from lack of proper oxygen, he’s sure. His heart is hammering painfully, panicked.

“I've been putting this off for too long now, really, but at the end of the day you deserve the truth, so...” Harry says, voice sounding weird and far away despite their proximity. “This all means more to me than just a teacher wanting the best for his student.” He explains, making Louis frown in desperate confusion, but Harry’s eyes are fixed on the duvet somewhere, not meeting Louis’. “In fact, to even call it that in any measure makes me feel like I'm doing us a tremendous injustice because... Well, we're more than that, aren't we? Aren’t we?” And he finally looks at Louis. “Or at least-... I care about you, Lou. More than I probably should... But, I'm so adamant that you understand that this _isn't_ what it looks like.” 

 _What_? What does that _mean_?

“This isn't just a… ‘benefits’ thing to me, even though the way we behave probably seems that way.” He pushes out a chuckle, sounding more nervous than Louis’ ever heard him be before. _Hang_ _on_. _Is this…?_  

“I'm loath to resist you, Lou, I'm a weak man.” Harry chuckles again, much the same way, and his breathing beneath Louis’ head hitches. “And to be honest, I do wish last night hadn’t happened the way it did. I wish it’d been a bit more special than how it turned out. Don't get me wrong, you're hot when you're jealous - which, by the way, while we’re back on that, was ridiculous. Russell wasn't a pinch of what you are to me." 

Louis’ lungs have opened up again. His breathing is back. It’s picking up, heart pounding along with it. 

“I’m sorry to just push all that out there but I guess I thought maybe it’d help you if I said what I had to say first? Warm the floor for you a bit? I’m fucking terrified right now; I won’t lie to you.” He chuckles again. “And I’m praying to anyone that’s listening that you’re not about to tell me the complete opposite of everything I just said. I mean, if that’s truly how you feel then obviously I’m not about to keep you a part of something that isn’t what you want-”

“Harry.” Louis finally finds the power to speak, cutting off Harry’s ridiculous – and frankly adorable – nervous rambling. He turns his head where he still lays on Harry’s chest, blinking up at him and trying to tame his wild grin. 

“First of all,” he starts, mimicking Harry just moments earlier. “Last night was insanely good, and we’re hardly blushing teens anymore. Do we really _need_ the romantics?”

Harry’s resulting pout tells Louis that yes, okay, maybe they do.

“Next time then.” Louis laughs, and revels in the way Harry’s face brightens at that, his cheeks dimpling, eyes beaming. 

God, Louis’ a goner.

He pauses, mentally rehashing everything Harry just may or may not have confessed, and decides _fuck it._ He takes a deep breath, holds it, grabs the bull by the horns and figures a man in his twenties should stop pussyfooting around. If he’s going to say it ever, he wants to say it now, while everything is serious and quiet and calm and Harry is looking at him with so much hope he could combust.

“Harry, I also need to... update you a bit, I think.” The words immediately aren’t coming out right but Louis pushes on. “I've been fooling myself for a while now. I think it was the competition that kick-started me down this rabbit hole but nevertheless, I'm here, and I've finally come to terms with my ridiculous bloody emotions." He laughs, then sucks in a breath to steel himself and, in a wave of brash bravery, he finally blurts out what he's been trying to say all along.

"I've fucking fallen in love with you." 

 

//

 

“I’ve fucking fallen in love with you.” 

Harry can’t believe what he’s hearing. _Louis just-… Louis is-?_  

He was so sure this conversation was going to leave him feeling pathetic and vulnerable. He was so prepared to feel like an exposed nerve, gushing his heart out and trying desperately not to regret it. He was so ready for Louis to let him down gently, probably throw in a joke and then cautiously approach the subject of them still fucking but remaining as friends.

Shit.

He was so worried Louis just saw all this as nothing more than what it had started as. He’d have been wrong, of course, so much has developed since the beginning of whatever this is they have. Not a single ounce of it feels the same as it used to. It’s more alive now, an energy between them, bright and glowing. And shit. Louis sees that too. Louis _feels_ that too. 

Harry had done the man a huge injustice by thinking he’d remained oblivious. Maybe he doesn’t know Louis as well as he thought he did after all.

“Lou…” He finally manages, smile breaking across his face. It’s matched by the man on his chest and he chokes out a laugh. “Fuck.”

Although Louis is smiling, there’s still a guarded nature to his eyes and Harry realises, with an alarming pang in his chest, that he’s left the poor man hanging.

“Shit, Lou, I love you too. It’s… That’s what I was trying to say earlier, I’m just _really_ terrible at it.” He winces, stroking the backs of his knuckles down Louis’ cheekbone, happiness stirring in his chest. “I’ve fucking fallen in love with you too.” It’s his turn to mimic Louis and he does so with a beaming smile, eyes tearing up despite his best efforts.

“Fuck, I’m bloody eloquent, aren’t I?” Louis comments, pushing himself up to sit. Harry can see his eyes are glassy too, and he frowns as Louis seems to shift closer to him on the bed, upper half twisted at a funny angle. “Come here and kiss me, you fool.” Louis gives in way of explanation, reaching for Harry and pulling him down with a hand at his neck.

Harry gladly obliges, heart soaring, and enthusiastically catches Louis’ mouth with his own. Louis immediately opens up for him, and Harry sighs into the kiss, relief and elation rolling off of him as he realises what’s just occurred between them. They can both stop being idiots and just fall into this now. Completely. 

It’s a glorious feeling.

 

***

 

Louis is on a high. He’s on a proper high. Every time Harry fills his thoughts he can’t keep the smile off his face. He’s rewound about ten years, honestly. He keeps sending Harry texts, smiley faces and kisses with no context, getting happy and giddy every time he gets a reply. It’s sickening, really. But he can’t help himself. 

“Drinks tonight, Ni?” 

“ _Fuck_ yes. These new patterned rucksacks are giving me a headache.” Niall complains, rubbing at the centre of his forehead. “Liam coming?”

“Oh, um, yeah I’ll ask.” Louis nods, firing off a quick text to Liam. “Shit, I haven’t seen him in ages.” 

“Too busy with that ballerina of yours.” Niall quips, still rearranging the rucksacks on their display. 

“Fuck off.” Louis snaps, fighting down his smile. Then another thought occurs to him. It’s probably because he’s so stupidly happy right now, but he’s suddenly in the mood to be surrounded by his lads. And he realises that there’s a potential addition to the group on the horizon, so asks Niall if he minds him inviting an extra person. Or two, actually, his growing bond with Zayn flickering in his mind. 

“Yeah, invite whoever ya want, mate. But if you’re bringing Harry, make sure you still talk to us a little bit, yeah? I know he’s _dreamy_ but there’s only so much of your love life I want to be subjected to.” 

“Says the very same guy who was demanding every graphic detail of all our sexual encounters the other week?” Louis immediately chirps, raising an eyebrow across the store.

“That’s different, s’for my book.” Niall dismisses, waving a hand and returning to frown at the rucksacks, blinking his eyes hard a couple of times.

Louis just smiles and shakes his head fondly, returning his attention to the till.

 

***

 

“Ni, Li, this is Zayn. He’s my partner for Swan Lake. Fucking ace at ballet.” Louis forms a circle with his thumb and forefinger, pursing his lips and nodding as Zayn humbly tells him to shut up and slides into a seat beside Liam. 

The two lads introduce themselves to the dancer, Niall spouting a hearty complaint about all dancers being way too attractive, which makes Zayn blush and touch his face absently, embarrassed.

“Niall’s loud and completely without any form of a filter most of the time, Zayn. On behalf of myself and Louis, we apologise in advance for any disruption he may cause.” Liam briefs the dancer, brown eyes warm and sincerely apologetic even as he berates the Irishman to his left.

Niall doesn’t protest the skewed introduction, just yells at Louis for his lack of a drink, and promptly sends him to rectify that – “You were the instigator of this particular get-together Lewis, first round’s on you, you know the rules”. 

Louis now is absently tapping the edge of a beer coaster against the alcohol-soaked wood of the bar, leaning forward on his elbows and watching a small television screen up in one corner as it plays 4Music on mute. 

“Hey,” a pleasantly familiar voice is suddenly by his side and a large hand is warm against the small of his back. The smell of sandalwood and lavender seep into his next breath in and he’s smiling before he even turns around to face the new arrival. 

“Hey, you.” He’s still smiling as Harry stoops to close the gap between them, the hand on Louis’ back moving to cup his jaw instead, smooth and warm as he kisses him. 

It’s probably a testament to how well they work, how _right_ they just seem, that this doesn’t even feel all that different from how they’ve always felt. Despite the fact that Louis had been shitting himself thin over the matter for weeks, now that they’ve actually approached the subject of the L word and come out the other side, the air between them feels just as comfortable and relaxed as ever. Though Louis will admit, he’s yet to work out how to tame the way his heart rapidly jumps about whenever he meets those green eyes lately. 

“You ordered?” Harry asks, dropping his hand from Louis’ face to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, long body twisting beneath floral silk and black denim. _Honestly_.

“Yeah, the lass is doing them now.” Louis nods to where the young woman behind the bar is pulling pints. “I just ordered five Miguel’s, wasn’t sure what you wanted. But someone else will always drink it if you’d prefer something different.” He assures the taller man, smiling.

Harry’s fiddling with his wallet, closing it up again and shoving it back into his back pocket before stepping forward to press his mouth to Louis’ forehead. 

“It’s fine, Lou, thanks. The next round is on me, though.” 

Louis scrunches his nose up, smiling closed-mouthed. He grabs the first two pints the woman – Roni - places on the bar before him, and turns to take them over to their table. On his way back to retrieve the other three, he meets Harry, who _of course_ is carrying them all in his giant hands. His long fingers grip the third a little precariously, but he’s carrying it nonetheless. _Holy_ _shit_. He grins cockily at Louis’ impressed look of surprise, winking, and sending him into a mild cardiac arrest. _Fucking calm down, Louis._

Once settled around the table, a drink for each man, the atmosphere between the five of them immediately feels chilled and easy. Niall introduces himself to Harry properly this time, then Liam follows, commenting on the fact they work in the same building and yet somehow have never properly met to which Harry apologises and Liam dismisses. Zayn gives Harry a nod, the only one who seems to come across slightly awkward. Though, Louis supposes, aside from the night out in Central London after the competition the other week, this is really the first social situation Zayn has spent with his dance teacher, with so few other people around. Maybe he’s finding it a bit strange. 

Conversation goes from topic to topic breezily, though. Harry pays for the second round of drinks; Liam gets the third. Niall returns from getting his round with five jagerbombs, of which his own Harry politely declines, and Zayn, floating on three beers and two shots – he took Harry’s – offers to pay for pizza on their way home.

Louis is buzzing. He hasn’t had a proper lad’s night out in ages and although he’s thoroughly enjoying it, his lack of practice shows. He’s really quite drunk, and incredibly pouty that Harry is decidedly not.

//

“You’re so _boring_ , Harry. _Ugh_.” He’s whining, speaking around a mouthful of Meat Feast as they stumble towards the tube station. Niall opted to stay behind at the bar, his interest piqued by a young hen party that had wandered in partway through the night. Though he assured Zayn he’s check in his ‘pizza coupon’ another night. Liam and Zayn split a taxi and take the rest of the pizza that Louis and Harry didn’t eat. 

Harry chuckles, ignoring Louis’ lack of manners when eating – yet again, he guesses he’ll just have to learn to love it – and pulls the smaller man into his side to avoid him colliding with an oncoming couple. He tucks Louis against him, an arm tight around his waist which also helps to keep the man upright, and then remembers his own slice of pizza in his other hand, biting down into the cheesy, doughy goodness and letting Louis’ playground insult go unresponded-to.

“ _So_ ,” Louis murmurs a while later, stumbling slightly into Harry’s side and peering up at him with hooded eyes as they wait on the platform for the next tube. “Your place or mine?”

There’s a meaningful glint behind the sharp blue and as tempting as _that_ idea sounds, Louis’ best option right now is probably a big glass of water and a decent few hours of sleep.

“Mine. But you’re not going to like what I’ve got planned for you, going by your tone just now.” Harry answers, tightening his arm around him. 

Louis frowns up at him, blinking.

“Your sentences are too long.” He eventually complains, pairing it with a heavy roll of his eyes.

“My sentences are too long?” Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, almost laughing at the bizarre insult.

“Mhm.” Louis nods. “Annoyingly long. Just like your eye lashes, and your nose, and your legs-” 

“My _nose_?” Harry squeaks, indignantly. “My nose is too long?”

“Hey, I didn’t say your dick. Could’ve said your dick.” Louis manages to shrug one shoulder, one eye half-closed and lips pursed. Wow. This is gonna hurt both of them in the morning. 

Harry lets the conversation drop there, just as the tube races into the station and slows to a stop. Maybe a cab would’ve been a better idea, thinking about it.

He manages to get Louis a seat though, which is a bonus, and keeps himself firmly planted in the spot directly in front of where Louis sits, trapping Louis’ legs between his own and making sure he stays upright. Louis keeps mumbling his appreciation and Harry can only chuckle and reply with a soft “No worries, Lou” every time he repeats himself.

 

***

 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

A pillow hits Harry square in the face, almost spilling the cup of tea in his hand. He quickly sets it down, along with two paracetamol tablets, and moves to disarm the grumpy man in his bed, pulling the pillow out of his grip and dropping it on the floor instead.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like me very much.” He continues, gently settling himself on the edge of the bed and reaching to brush some hair from across Louis’ frowning face. Louis lets out a huff but doesn’t protest the action, just keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t move.

Harry leaves it a few seconds, fingertips still stroking gently at Louis’ hair, admiring how his lashes flicker against the sleepy blush of his cheeks. 

“It’s Friday, Lou.” He whispers, “It’s almost eight. There’s a cup of tea and some painkillers on the stand to your left, and once you’re feeling a bit more alive,” he’s cut off by Louis’ hand swatting half-assedly in the general direction of his leg, “you can jump in the shower, if you want.” He finishes, fighting his light laughter. “Okay?”

Louis just grunts, then throws an arm over his face with a sigh.

“Do you feel alright? Not sick?” 

Louis shakes his head beneath his arm.

“Good, okay then.” Harry pats at Louis’ hip over the duvet and stands up. “Come on, ‘cause we need to make a detour to yours on the way. To grab your stuff.” He picks up the discarded pillow and plops it back on the bed. “And class starts in about an hour.”

He bends to drop a kiss to a tiny sliver of Louis’ forehead that’s peeking above his forearm, and then promptly leaves the room. 

“Don’t fall back to sleep!” He calls out once he’s in the hallway.

Louis just gives a long groan of annoyance as a reply.

 

***

 

Headache gradually fading, Louis has cursed himself about a dozen times over for getting so rat-arsed drunk the night before a full day of rehearsals. In fact, he’s also cursed Harry for letting him get so rat-arsed drunk the night before a full day of rehearsals. 

“It’s just not very professional of you.”

“Not very professional of me?” Harry chuckles, fiddling with the music system to change the disc. He’s sent the class on a ten-minute break before they move onto the next routine, and Louis is hovering by Harry’s side, making him very aware of exactly how much this is _both_ of their faults.

“Extremely unprofessional. Awful.” Louis clarifies, leaning back against the wall beside the music system and crossing his arms.

“Well, I can only apologise.” Harry bends to press a button on the equipment.

“Yes. You should. Good.” Louis nods, a little put out that Harry didn’t go for his usual tactic of engaging in a hearty back-and-forth banter. “Well then.” 

But now Harry’s smirking, and Louis probably should’ve known better. The taller man has put the new disc in, set it to the right track and has closed up the cd case. He places it atop the player before coming to stand in front of where Louis is leaning against the wall. His thumbs find Louis’ hips and his eyes are bright and mischievous.

“What?” Louis cautiously asks, keeping his arms folded. “What’s that look for?” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder, lips pushing out into a plush pout, then curling up into a crooked grin.

“It’s just… Well, I didn’t think _professionalism_ was really my sort of thing anymore. When it comes to you, anyway.” He murmurs, towering closely over Louis’ frozen form. His voice is doing that thing where it drops an octave lower than normal and Louis’ blood surges somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be surging in a studio full of his fellow dancers. “I could, of course, behave more professionally for you. That is, if you’ve changed your mind about things.” He’s teasing. So blatantly and unashamedly teasing, but Louis can’t find it in himself to stop him. He kind of wants to see where Harry’s going with this. “But if it were up to me,” Harry leans down then, his voice barely above a whisper, lips grazing the shell of Louis’ ear. “I’d really rather not. You see…” He begins, his thumbs swiping across Louis’ hips until his hands are gripping more at his waist. His hold tightens there. “I’d _really_ quite like to explore this little kink of yours that we’ve recently discovered.” Oh, fuck. He can’t be saying this. Not _here_? “Fuck you standing up, holding you up-”

“Harry, you need to shut the fuck up, right now.” Louis grits out, placing a hand flat on Harry’s chest. “Seriously, it’s hot but I can’t-”

Harry just huffs out a smirking laugh, immediately pulling away and giving Louis space. 

Louis swallows, darting his eyes around the studio for signs that anyone just witnessed whatever that was. Thankfully, everyone is either chatting amongst themselves or stretching and messing about at the barre. A few are swinging in and out of the changing room doors and Louis lets out a sigh of relief, noting how it makes the taller man chuckle deeply. 

“Shut up.” He mutters, discreetly reaching a hand down to adjust himself and pretend he’s scratching an itch on his leg. “Insufferable.”

“ _Insufferable_?” Harry finds this amusing, grabbing the remote for the music system and meeting Louis’ eyes as he walks past him. “I take it you no longer have a problem with my professionalism though?” He smirks, glancing pointedly at Louis’ crotch for half a second. “Okay! Back to it then, ladies and gents! Let’s go from the top of the new one!” 

Louis’ headache may have gone, but his _pain in the arse_ is still very much there, shouting away at the class to find their places. He tucks away a small smile of giddiness, and schools himself to learn.

“Oh, can I put my _pointe_ shoes on for this?” He calls over to Harry, who’s taken up his usual position in front of the awaiting dancers. 

Harry sets him a look.

“You’ve had a whole ten-minute break to put your shoes on, Louis. What _have_ you been doing?”

Louis’ glare could probably scare small children, but it only makes Harry grin.

 

***

 

The following few weeks continue progressively, both in terms of rehearsals, and in terms of Louis and Harry. It just feels easy. Nothing has really changed, except maybe there’s no longer that barrier of _wondering_ there anymore. It’s all knowledge now. Pure, beautiful knowledge. It’s so much better than not knowing. Especially when it’s fallen the way that you wanted it to. Perrie would _so_ be telling him ‘I told you so’ if she could hear his thoughts right now.

“I might invite Mum to stay this coming weekend.” Louis thinks aloud as they lounge on his sofa, half-watching reruns of The Great British Bake-Off (Harry’s choice) and half-scrolling absently on their phones.

Louis’ propped up in the corner of the arm, legs perched on the coffee table and crossed at the ankle. Harry, hair still damp from a shower, is tucked into the space at Louis’ side, turned onto his back with his head nestled under the crook of Louis’ right arm, which he keeps stroking lazily, playing with Louis’ fingers and making him laugh every so often. 

It’s actually a bit sickening. Probably. But Louis doesn’t much care. It’s really nice.

“Hm?” Harry hums, obviously not listening, and turns his head to peer up at Louis’ chin.

Louis looks away from his phone to meet Harry’s eyes and huffs out a fond laugh, immediately ducking down to kiss Harry’s confused pout. “My Mum.” He repeats. “I’m gonna ask her to stay for the weekend. She might bring the girls, I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Harry nods, turning back to his phone. “Yeah, that’ll be nice. I didn’t get to talk to her much at the competition.”

Louis pauses, trying not to smile even though Harry can’t see him.

“You wanna talk to Mum?” 

Harry turns his head to look at him again, right hand slipping his fingers between Louis’ just to the knuckle. It tickles a little.

“Yeah.” He nods, a piece of damp hair falling slightly into his face. Louis drops his phone into his lap to move it back behind his ear for him.

“About?” He prompts, leaving his hand there when Harry leans into the touch.

“Well, I want to introduce myself properly. She’s your mum, Lou, she’s very important.” 

Louis chuckles. 

“Okay, love. I’m sure she’d love to be able to talk to you properly too. Just…” He pauses, “Don’t believe all the stories she tells you. I most definitely was _not_ that much of a little shit as a child.”

Harry bursts out laughing at that, fingers tightening in-between Louis’ as he throws his head back against the side of Louis’ shoulder.

“Oi!” Louis starts laughing too, unable to help himself, and moves his hand from Harry’s face to poke at the first bit of him he can reach. The slight round of his left trapezius. It’s hard under his finger and Louis gulps amidst his laughter.

Their laughter fades eventually, and they go back to watching Val and her poor Yorkshire Puddings. 

_“They're not going to allow me back into Yorkshire ever again.”_

“Too right, love. Stop faffing about with ‘em and just get ‘em in the _fucking_ bin!”

Harry bursts out laughing again, surprising Louis, and then makes to sit up. He’s reaching for his drink on the table even before his laughter breaks into coughs.

“Are you alright there? What was so funny?” Louis asks, leaning forward to rub at Harry’s back. 

Harry swallows a few mouthfuls of water before putting the glass down, eyes teary but smile still huge.

“You just… Sometimes you go _so_ Northern…” He wipes at the corner of his eye with one long finger.

“Hey! I _am_ Northern!” Louis defends. “And so are you, remember! You’re not _actually_ Russian, you daft-arse Mancunian!”

Harry’s resulting look of offended shock has Louis dissolving into giggles, only intensifying when Harry leaps on him, squashing both their phones somewhere between the sofa cushions as he attacks Louis’ sides with nimble fingers.

“Alright- _Alright_! F’k _off_!” Louis’ head is thrown back against the couch, neck straining with laughter as he tenses his body under Harry’s torturous tickling, knees pulled up to his chest despite Harry’s weight on him. 

Once Louis is thoroughly out of breath and unable to put up any more of a fight, Harry relents and sits up again, reaching for his glass and taking another few mouthfuls.

Louis blinks from his place sprawled across the sofa, hair a fluffy mess and arms propped up on their elbows, wrists limp. Even as his chest heaves, he wiggles his hips and then pokes one foot gently at Harry’s chin to get his attention.

“You sure you’re alright?” He rasps, voice higher than he’d like it. 

Harry nods, putting his glass down again and then holding out an arm to help pull Louis to sit up again. He doesn’t answer until he’s shifted them both and tucked Louis snugly under his arm, the smaller man curling up into a ball by his side and throwing an arm over his waist.

“I’m just not used to laughing so hard.” He admits, hand beginning its familiar strokes through Louis’ fluffed-up hair, smoothing it out again. “You’re too much sometimes.” He adds, chuckling.

“Sorry, I’ll try to keep my top-notch humour to a maximum daily quota from now on.” Louis quips. “How many laughs do you think you can manage? Seven? Eight? ‘Cause if you’re asking for anything below five it’s pushing it for me, I’m afraid I might not be able to keep it down to-” He’s cut off by Harry’s other hand coming to press a single finger to his lips, cool and smooth against his mouth. “What?” He murmurs against it, brow flickering into a frown as he searches Harry’s face for a clue. “ _What_?” He repeats. 

Harry shakes his head, and then swiftly replaces his finger with his mouth, kissing Louis so tenderly that Louis almost worries. It’s probably the softest kiss they’ve ever shared, and off goes Louis’ heart again. _Thub-bub. Thub-bub. Thub-bub._  

He sucks in a sharp breath when Harry, instead of touching his tongue to Louis’ lip to get him to deepen the kiss, just parts his own mouth first, something he’s never done before. This is definitely a different kind of kiss.

Without dwelling on that too much, lest it actually put Louis in danger of needing to go to hospital - _Thub-bub- thub-bub –_ he shifts up onto his knees a little, slowly breaking the kiss and immediately meeting Harry’s eyes. A whole conversation happens in a whoosh, barely lasting two seconds in real-time, and then Harry is positioning himself to lay down, head on a cushion, feet just shy of the other end of the sofa. His hair, still a little damp, is delicately draped out beneath him, eyes glassy and hooded and he’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Louis breathing stutters.

In seconds, Harry has above him. Louis brackets his hips with his knees, hands holding himself up either side of Harry’s head, careful not to trap his hair, and he ducks down to kiss him again. The TV chatters away quietly in the background as Harry absolutely melts beneath Louis’ touch, both of them languidly and unhurriedly exploring each other’s mouths. Louis is pulling the softest sounds out of Harry, ones he’s never heard before, and when his weight slips onto his elbows by accident and he unexpectedly brushes his crotch against Harry’s - clad in only his pyjama trousers after his shower – the man beneath him actually whines, neck craning back against the sofa and ultimately ending the glorious kisses.

“ _Haz_ …” Louis breathes, swallowing, hips starting to form tight little circles of their own accord and sending both himself and Harry further down a path that the kissing probably wasn’t actually intended to lead them. But now they’re at the fork in the road, and it feels so raw this time, everything’s sharp and clear and Harry’s got his eyes closed, lips rolled tightly into his mouth and brow furrowed in concentration, presumably trying to stop himself from bucking up against Louis. It’s a tiny bit endearing, and Louis doesn’t like that Harry feels he’s got to hold himself back like this. After all, Louis is currently grinding down against him, he’s not exactly holding back himself. 

“Haz.” He tries again, voice a gentle whisper, and lowers his mouth to skim a few feathery kisses up the line of Harry’s throat. Harry whimpers, his hips twitching. “Hey… What do you want, love?” He reaches the hinge of Harry’s jaw and scrapes his teeth there a little. Another whimper. Another involuntary twitch of his hips as he fails at keeping them under control. Louis inwardly tuts. “Don’t stop yourself, Harry. I love you.”

Harry’s resulting noise is more of a moan then, his lips still pressed tightly, and he sounds a little bit frustrated. 

Louis thinks he might’ve worked this out, and smiles to himself.

“C’m ‘ere.” He breathes, moving to locate Harry’s mouth again, and is immediately given control of the kiss. This time it’s a tad more familiar. Although Harry is far more submissive than he’d usually be – something Louis is yet to totally get his head around but thinks he might be slowly working out too – his mouth is eager and pliant all at once, hands moving to grip at the sides of Louis’ thighs and hold him down against him and he writhes up.

“ _There we go_.” Louis murmurs against Harry’s open mouth, letting his own eyes fall shut in bliss as Harry finally meets his movements, pushing up against him and letting out tiny noises of exertion as he does. It’s incredibly hot, and Louis can’t control how his own hips speed up a little, torn between chasing his high right now and have it end as a fumble on the sofa, or pulling himself away long enough to move this to his bedroom. A rock and a hard place. Quite literally. 

“Harry… Haz, _fuck_ …” Louis feels bad that he’s about to ask Harry to stop when only minutes ago he’d given him the green light. But he doesn’t want it to end yet. He wants to make Harry feel even better than this. “Stop, love. Stop-”

Miraculously, Harry’s movements halt, and he opens his eyes beneath Louis – as blown and dark as they are – to peer up at him in worried concern. 

Louis is having none of that, and quickly presses a kiss to his mouth to tell him there’s nothing wrong. He pulls back, about to ask Harry if he wants to move this elsewhere, but apparently, yet again, their eye contact is enough. Harry’s smiling, craning up to catch Louis’ mouth once more, then pulling back to nod, tapping two long fingers against Louis’ hip to ask him to move off of him.

Louis needs to not think about their ability to silently communicate right now, and it helps to start tugging Harry towards his bedroom by his hips, relishing in the way Harry’s looking at him the whole time. He pulls Harry down onto the bed with him, then flips them so the taller man is on his back again, hair splayed out even more than it was on the sofa, making him look like some sort of semi-debauched, horny angel. Poetry was never Louis’ forte.

“C’mon, Lou…” Harry breathes, voice gravelly and sending tingles down Louis’ spine as he climbs to hover over him. 

“What do you want, Harry? Tell me what you want and-” 

As way of an answer - or rather, explanation - Harry reaches for Louis’ joggers, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband enough to tug them down over his bum and past his hips. He doesn’t give Louis time to react before he’s doing the same with his boxers and swiftly taking hold of Louis in one large hand.

“ _Shit_ -” Louis hisses, hips bucking a little into Harry’s grip.

Harry hums, pleased, and smiles up at him.

“You little…” Louis trails off, too busy smacking Harry’s hand away so he can strip the man of his pyjamas, standing up to step out of his own clothing too and chucks the whole lot behind him. Harry sits up onto his elbows, staring at Louis where he remains at the end of the bed. Their eyes lock for a second, then something in Harry’s look changes, and it’s suddenly challenging, waiting, full of intent yet he remains unmoving on the bed.

Louis takes a leap, and slowly reaches to crawl back over him again, not even pausing before catching Harry’s mouth so fiercely it makes the taller man tip his head back, then fall flat onto his back again, arms coming up to hold Louis down by the neck, moaning.

This time, Louis keeps absolutely no distance between their bodies, and for a while they lazily rut against each other, Harry’s breathing coming out in huffs while his mouth is preoccupied with Louis’. He brings a leg up between the next swivel of his hips against the smaller man’s, lifting it until his ankle sits firmly on Louis’ shoulder. It makes Louis break the kiss to gape at him, very aware that this means-

“Fuck, of course you’re so bloody flexible.” Louis mutters, moving a hand to circle his fingers around Harry’s ankle and hold it there. Harry shows no sign of pain whatsoever, his leg stretching up easily, knee almost meeting his own pec. “You’re something else.” Louis adds, shaking his head in disbelief before leaning down to snatch another kiss from Harry’s mouth.

Upon Harry’s insistence that it really doesn’t hurt at all, Louis opens him up like that, sitting back on his heels with one hand holding the back of Harry’s knee to keep his leg stretched there, the other working one, two, then three lube-coated fingers inside him.

He fucks him like that too, slowly pushing inside whilst keeping his grip on his leg tight. It sends Harry’s head backwards against the pillows, a vein in his neck protruding as Louis sinks in until their hips meet. Once Harry’s given him the go ahead and he’s moving at a steady pace, he feels Harry’s thigh twitch and lets go of the younger man’s leg, grimacing in sympathy as Harry groans, slowly draping it across Louis’ hip instead.

“Why am I not surprised, eh?” Louis murmurs, breath punching out on each thrust. He’s keeping them steady but not too fast, knowing it’ll only be over sooner if he speeds up now. “Reckon I could fold you right up, get your feet by your head-” He grunts, tucking his face into Harry’s neck and keeping his hips rolling. “Mm? Fuck you in half-”

“ _Lou_ …” Harry whines, hands scrambling at Louis’ sweaty back. “ _Fuck_ -… Love you.”

The lightbulb goes off in Louis’ head again at Harry’s words, and he shifts so he can kiss him, open-mouthed and deep, arms moving to scoop beneath Harry’s shoulders, holding him up and close to his body and feeling the younger man’s legs tighten around his hips.

“I love you too, Haz.” He breathes against his mouth. Harry’s cock twitches between their bellies. “So beautiful… Love you too.” He murmurs, making sure to keep his movements deep and languid, as much as his arousal is screaming for him to speed up. Harry is tight and gorgeous and loud. He whines again then, the highest Louis’ ever heard his voice go, and his hands fly up to tangle all his fingers in Louis’ hair as he writhes and rolls underneath him. Louis knows Harry’s about to come, because his teeth sink into Louis’ bottom lip and his whimpers are catching on every exhale, quicker and higher.

“That’s it, love. _Fuck_ \- Come for me, Harry.” Louis manages, Harry’s body relentless beneath him and around him, selfishly chasing his own release once Louis’ tells him it’s okay. “That’s it. _Shit_ \- You’re so good, Haz, look at you-”

Harry comes with a particularly earnest, choked off moan, almost like a grunt though nothing like how he’s sounded to Louis before. It’s not guttural and growling, it’s pinched and desperate and he gasps against Louis’ mouth as he rides it out, each of Louis’ thrusts still pressing against his cock, even once he’s spent and the sensation is so much he’s flinching. 

All it takes is for Harry to open his eyes, meeting Louis’ with the green nearly all-consumed by dark pupils, and Louis’ coming too. The final few snaps of his hips significantly quicker than the rest, coming harder than he has for a long, long time, groaning lower than he knew he could. 

Harry’s there, lightly scraping both hands through the hair above Louis’ nape as he comes down, murmuring more “ _I love you’s”_ against Louis’ slack mouth.

It takes a few seconds, but once he has the strength to, Louis climbs off of Harry and stands on shaky legs, discarding the condom in the bathroom bin and returning with a warm damp flannel and a glass of water from the kitchen. By the time he reappears though, Harry is beneath the covers, two tell-tale fingers still between his lips and Louis’ knees almost buckle.

“Did you just-?” 

Harry just shrugs from the bed, pulling out his finger and wiping it on his leg to dry it. “S’quicker.”

“Oh my god.” Louis groans, shaking his head fondly and passing Harry the glass. He clambers over Harry to get to his side of the bed, earning a bark of laughter coupled with a playful swat when Harry almost spills the water, and settles against the pillows with a satisfied sigh.

Harry downs half the glass and passes the rest to Louis, who gratefully drinks the rest, then places it on the bedside table and returns to wrap Harry up in his arms.

“So…” Louis begins after a moment. 

Harry sounds sleepy, but he replies. “So?”

“I love you?” Louis says, making sure it sounds like a question. 

Harry stills against his side for a second. “Yeah?”

“Is that a thing, or?” Louis gently presses, combing a hand up through Harry’s tangled hair.

Harry grumbles and tries to bury his face in Louis’ chest.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Louis chuckles, still stroking. “I like it when you carry me, you like it when we say ‘I love you’.” He shrugs. “For the record, that’s the first time I’ve had slow sex.” He adds, hoping it’ll make Harry feel better.

“What?” Harry gapes, almost laughing. _Success._

Louis nods.

“And?” Harry presses, trying to come off as casual, but Louis can see the flush high on his cheeks. He leans to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

“Perfect.” He says. “I came so hard; I don’t even know what happened.” He tacks on, laughing. 

Harry laughs too, and then they’re quiet for a moment. Someone in another flat starts playing music loud enough for the bass to thrum dully up through the floor.

“You’re so fucking bendy, honestly.”

Harry’s laughter rings loudly through the room and Louis grins, pleased. He’d quite like to hear that sound a lot more often.

“You’re bendy too.” Harry says, poking at Louis’ tummy then smoothing his hand out across it and nuzzling his face a bit further into his skin. “Y’said you could fuck me folded in half, but I reckon I could do the same.” He muses. “Or maybe have you spread like you’re in the splits, if your _arabesque_ _penché_ tells me anything, it tells me that I could fuck you in the splits.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly and shuts him up my kissing him, which actually ends up shutting him up for a solid three minutes.

 

***

 

“Has Madam Charee ever said anything to you?”

Harry frowns, chewing on his mouthful of toast, sat across the table from Louis over steaming mugs of tea. The TV is on in the living room, playing BBC News to an empty sofa. 

“Like what?” 

“Like…” Louis pauses, thinking about how he wants to word this. “About us? The whole… you know, ‘fact that you’re my teacher’ thing?”

Harry scoffs, reaching for his mug and picking it up by the side without the handle, long fingers circling it easily. Louis has to force himself to concentrate on the conversation. 

“I think Madam Charee has a pretty lax sort of judgement when it comes to those sorts of things, don’t you?” Harry takes a mouthful of tea and swallows. “I mean; she was literally encouraging alcohol consumption on dance school grounds the other week.”

Louis smiles, nodding. “True.” He says, eyes dropping to his toast for a second. “So, you don’t think the minds?”

“Minds?” Harry frowns. 

“That we’re, you know… Together.” It still gives Louis’ goosebumps to be able to say it. He’s actually a twelve-year-old.

“She’s not my mother, Louis.” Harry chuckles, taking another bite of his breakfast and watching Louis as he chews. His mouth moves a lot when he chews, Louis notices. 

“Well, no, but she is your boss.”

“Well…” Harry pauses, swallowing his mouthful of toast and dropping the slice in his fingers back onto his plate. “No, she isn’t really my boss either.”

Louis frowns. 

“Hang on, so you’re… what? Self-employed?” He reaches for his own mug of tea, eyes fixed on Harry.

“Well, I’m freelance, I guess. So, yeah.” Harry nods, seeming to be working it out for himself too. “Yeah.”

“Who pays you?” Louis asks, ignoring how it’s probably a personal question. They’ve had their cocks in each other. Surely Harry won’t mind.

“The I.D.T.A do.”

 _Bingo_. 

“But Madam Charee asked you to teach for her? Or?” Louis continues, finishing his last mouthful of toast and pushing his plate away. 

"No, I inquired into whether there were any teaching positions available.” Harry explains.

“So, you’re a teacher… But you don’t work _for_ the school?” Louis clarifies. 

“No, I’m my own boss, really. Yeah.” Harry nods, picking up his mug again and cradling it in both hands.

“How did I not know this?” Louis laughs lightly. “Okay, so what is this? Some short-term, ‘you turn up and bless us with your presence’ type of thing?”

Harry chuckles into his mug, shaking his head. “Well, no… I mean-”

“It makes sense.” Louis shrugs. “You’re a freelance dance teacher with no real ties to the school itself. I mean, why not move from place to place?” 

“Well, I… I mean, you make a good point.”

Louis holds the pause Harry gives then, watching him closely. 

“So what happens next then? What’s gonna happen when you… move on?” He’s careful with his wording.

“Move on?” Harry blinks, frowning.

“Yeah, when you leave us and move onto your next school. Is that not your plan?”

A beat.

“Well, admittedly… Admittedly, I had thought about it, yes. At the beginning. It maybe _was_ my plan…”

Louis swallows, pretending to be more interested in his toast than in Harry’s answers for a second. 

“So, what changed then?” 

Harry is quiet for a moment, smiling at his plate. “Well… I guess I…” 

Louis raises both eyebrows, waiting. He brings his mug to his mouth again, feigning just a casual amount of interest. 

Harry sighs, ducking his head even more and smiling down at his lap before finally meeting Louis eyes and looking a bit like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. 

“I guess I found a reason to stay.”

Louis blinks. His mug slips in his grip and he almost drops it. Harry chuckles, and Louis smiles across the table at him, meeting his eyes, finding that the taller man was already staring straight back. Harry gives a light little shrug into the silence and Louis pushes his tongue into his cheek, nose wrinkling to try and stop his love-struck grin. 

“Fuck off.” He mutters, swinging his leg to kick gently at Harry’s shin under the table, ducking to hide his beaming great smile. (The nose wrinkling didn’t work.)

“I thought the whole point of this conversation was that you didn’t want me to?” Harry smirks over his mug. 

Louis throws a piece of toast crust at him.


	23. XXIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've probably noticed, I've extended the total number of chapters. This is because I miscalculated terribly, and also because I really don't want to squish stuff into one chapter if it doesn't feel right, just for the sake of meeting my own stupidly incorrect goal. Don't worry, I'm laughing at myself too. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one! A bit of a warm, fluffy filler chapter, really. But necessary. Always necessary. 
> 
> Much love!
> 
> ALSO
> 
> tw: Jay talks about some upsetting memories from Lou's childhood, just in case anyone is affected by stuff like that. It's kid-based, non-violent but it is sad. Just to let you guys know.

Zayn is already stretching when Louis arrives on Saturday morning. He’s a tiny bit late, but he’s smiling as he pushes through the studio doors, and Harry is immediately there, holding out a cup of takeaway tea with a grin. 

“Mm, morning. Does everyone get this treatment?” Louis quips, eyes bright.

Harry’s insides bloom with warmth as Louis smiles wider, reaching to take the cup. He playfully pulls back so it’s just out of Louis’ reach, tapping a long finger to his cheek with a small smirk. 

Louis rolls his eyes, chuckling, and obediently stretches up to press a kiss there. Only Harry moves at the last second so he catches his lips instead, more warmth blooming when Louis smiles against his mouth.

As Louis finally takes the tea, Harry watches as his blue eyes flick over to an amused-looking Zayn at the _barre_. 

“Don’t worry, mate. We did our smoochy hello’s and breakfast exchanges before you got here.” Zayn jokes, and Harry grins. 

Louis rolls his eyes, plucking the lid from his tea to blow across it gently.

“Thank you.” He meets Harry’s gaze as he takes a tentative sip, pausing a moment to smile again before the tea touches his lips. He swallows, lets out a pleased sigh, and then he’s holding the cup back out towards Harry. Which, what?

“Listen, I hate to seem ungrateful but can I just pass you this back for a sec? There’s someone outside I’d like to bring in?” Louis asks, and a baffled Harry nods, closing his hand around the paper cup and taking it from him as requested. 

The smaller man turns back towards the studio doors, and Harry is still very much baffled, until Louis returns again, this time with his mother in tow.

“Jay!” Harry cries, smiling brightly and almost forgetting the scalding hot cup of tea in his hand.

“Hello, Harry.” Jay beams, then notices Zayn across the room. “Hello, Zayn! Nice to see you again, sweetie.” 

Jay chuckles at Harry’s resulting childish pout. 

“Oh, you’re a sweetie too, Harry. Or at least, you _will_ be, if you let me stay and watch you all this morning?” She asks cheekily, lifting up two sets of crossed fingers and biting her lip. 

Harry grins, handing Louis his tea back with a nod before he’s jogging to unstack a chair from the pile in the corner.

“Of course. You’re welcome any time, Jay.”

He unfolds the chair and pats it. 

“Make yourself comfy. I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up a tea too, _someone_ should’ve told me you were coming!” He sends a very pointed look in the direction of one particular man in the room.

Louis just smirks over the lip of his cup, shrugging a single shoulder. 

“I’ve probably only got time for a few sips of this one anyway.” He says, blowing across the top again and curling steam into the air as he moves towards where Jay is settling herself in the chair and Harry is standing with his hands on his hips. 

“As grateful as I am to you, love,” Louis pauses to stretch up and peck Harry’s cheek. “It’s all yours once I’m sufficiently warmed up, Ma.” He presses another to the cheek of his mum, earning himself a fond laugh and a soft tut. 

Jay then sets her handbag down beside her, tucking her hair behind her ear with the other hand, and Harry sets about getting the music ready. Louis quickly retrieves his dance bag from just inside the door and sorts himself out quickly, shrugging off his coat whilst carefully swapping his tea from hand to hand as he shucks off the sleeves, unwinding his scarf with one arm, and pulling on his shoes with his tea sat beside him on the floor. 

Harry will never get tired of just sitting/standing/laying down - delete where applicable - and admiring Louis just being himself. He’s not even embarrassed to admit that anymore. 

// 

Later, tea now cradled securely between Jay’s hands in her lap, Harry leads the two dancers through a particularly tricky lift. 

It requires Louis to be held directly above Zayn’s head by the very tops of his hips, so that he can drape his body backwards and extend his legs out, one bent at the knee and one stretched straight, dropping his arms past the line of his head to cross at the wrist. Yeah.

It’s hard because it requires balance on both their parts, as well as Louis completely trusting that Zayn won’t drop him, so he can fully execute the position without looking too stiff and scared and ridiculous. The Swan is supposed to be fluid and elegant, The Prince confident and strong, but Zayn’s arms are shaking and Louis’ holding himself up by his stomach muscles, scared that if he drops his head and body back into the arch he’s supposed to be in, his weight will shift too heavily and Zayn’ll drop him on his head. His abs burn as he works to keep his body as taut as possible, hands gripping mercilessly at any part of Zayn’s arms he can reach, desperately trying not to feel like he’s about to fall.

Harry is telling him to relax, that his stiffened form is causing Zayn to feel wobblier with his hold, but Louis is calling bullshit – not literally, his mother would murder him – and refusing to do as Harry says. If he flops back into the extended arch, Zayn _will_ drop him. He’s sure of it.

“-honestly. Please, Lou, just trust me. You’re-” Harry pauses to quickly steady Zayn as he stumbles with Louis’ weight so high and lopsided above him, “See? You’re making it worse, you need to relax back into it. Slowly. I’m right here, I’m not gonna let him drop you, you won’t fall.”

It’s all bollocks. Really. Louis can feel it every time he gives in a little and starts to test the waters, relaxing his abdomen to let gravity slowly take his top-heavy weight backwards over Zayn’s head, he can feel it when either a wobble or a shift to their centre hurtles his adrenalin through his veins and he tenses again. He can’t do it. 

“Oh my god…” Louis wails as he falters for the umpteenth time. 

“Oh for god’s-… Boys. You can both do this. You need to trust each other.” Harry tells them, face serious and arms raised ready to correct any issues. 

“I feel like he’s too far over my head.” Zayn grits out, arms straining to keep Louis’ weight above him. “And he’s too stiff, any time he moves I-” as if on cue, Zayn’s eyes widen and he quickly has to step back to re-centre their combined balance. “ _Shit_.”

“Alright, let him down. Come down, Louis.” Harry sighs, making sure Louis is back safely on the floor before running a hand through his hair and pushing out a breath. “This is literally the only bit you’re struggling with in this piece. It’s so frustrating, because I _know_ you can do it, it’s just getting over that fear. You _can_ do it.” 

“Sorry to interrupt you, Harry, but could I suggest something?” Jay suddenly calls from her chair.

Harry nods, turning more to face her.

“I’ll take any and all ideas you have, Jay.”

“Swap places.” She says, talking to Louis now. 

Louis frowns, heart still hammering. “What?” 

“Swap places.” Jay repeats, nodding in Zayn’s direction. “You won’t be able to fully understand what the other one needs from you until you see it from their shoes. Louis, you lift Zayn.” She pauses, “I think it’ll help you both understand.”

Both dancers look to Harry, who’s smiling a little, and simply shrugs. 

“Might as well give it a go.” 

This time, Zayn is the one high above Louis’ head, and although Louis is swearing that he can’t stay still because he’s constantly having to counterbalance every slight movement Zayn makes, he gets it. _He gets it._ His mum is too bloody clever, he thinks, as he manages to plant his feet wide, allowing Zayn to feel more stable above him, and sure enough, the dark-haired dancer lets out a steady breath and slowly drops his body back into a neat arch, arms falling past his head and crossing at the wrist. 

Jay immediately starts clapping, and Louis can see her standing in his peripheral, too scared to actually turn his head to look properly. 

Harry is beaming when he rounds them to view the lift from the front, and his eyes are glittering, his hands balled into excited fists.

“Yes! Amazing, boys! Well done! Hold it, Zayn, keep steady. Louis don’t let your grip loosen or else he’ll tense up again. Good.” 

He steps closer, admiring them for a few more seconds before Zayn complains that the blood is rushing to his head and Louis agrees that his arms are almost numb and Harry slowly helps them out of the lift until Zayn is back on his feet. 

“Excellent. Did that help?” He checks, eyes flicking from Louis’ to Zayn’s. 

Both of them nod, and Jay’s resulting coo of delight makes Louis roll his eyes fondly. 

“Good!” Harry beams, then turns to address his new assistant. “Thanks, Jay. You star.” 

Louis rolls his eyes again.

“Okay!” Harry’s continuing, “Think you can have another go at it the right way round now?”

They nod again, and when Louis meets Zayn’s eyes he’s grinning at him. Okay. They can do this.

After a few seconds to gather his confidence, Louis turns his back to Zayn so he can lift him again, this time closing his eyes and concentrating when he feels his centre of gravity shift once he’s up there. He holds still for Zayn’s stability, his grip tight on Louis’ waist, form steady underneath him. Then slowly, slowly, he starts to drop his body back. He keeps his eyes closed against the spike of adrenalin when his heavy head and shoulders outweigh his legs, but sure enough, within seconds he’s got his arms extended, draping delicately in line with his arched back and crossing at the wrists.

“Can you open your eyes, Lou?” Harry’s soft voice is close to him. He must be standing to their side, face close to where Louis’ head is upside down.

Louis takes a few seconds, but then blinks his eyes open, met with the upside down image of Harry’s stupidly pretty face. He’s beaming. 

“Gorgeous.” He breathes, taking a step back to admire the lift as a whole before nodding and saying it again. “Gorgeous! You’ve got it, boys!”

“I’m fucking terrified!” Louis barks, high and sharp. 

“ _Language,_ _Louis_ _William_!” Jay gasps.

Zayn chuckles beneath him but his steadiness doesn’t falter.

“You look amazing, guys, have a look.” Harry says, nodding his head for them to look at the mirrors around them.

Louis just about manages to turn his head enough to see, and he has to agree with Harry, because the lift looks incredible. He needs to point his feet more, and Zayn’s stance is almost comically wide. But they’re doing it. It’s only polishing that’s needed, and that’ll come with time and confidence. For now, they’ve got it.

“It could look a little bit neater.” Jay supplies from her chair. “Lou, honey, you look scared stiff.”

“I am!” He shouts, voice echoing in the large studio. 

Harry chuckles, stepping closer to them both and unfolding his arms from across his chest, ready in case Louis needs him. It makes Louis’ insides glow a little bit.

“Don’t worry, Jay. We’re gonna keep practicing this one, definitely. As Zayn’s understudy I need to be able to do it anyway.” Harry flashes Louis a grin. “Perfect excuse to practice it as _much_ as we can.” He winks, knowing Louis is cursing his name. “I’ll have Lou upside down more than he’s right way up.”

At that, a sudden blush spreads high across Louis’ cheeks, burning brighter when his mother lets out a particularly amused bark of a laugh and covers her eyes with her hands.

Harry’s smirking from his new place fiddling with the music system – _when did get over there?_ \- glancing up and sideways to meet Louis’ eyes, pleased with himself at the reaction.

“Come on then. From the top of your first duet. Let’s show Jay how good you _really_ are.” He calls over to them then, but Louis still feels more than a bit mortified. Jay is still trying not to laugh.

Zayn seems to catch this, because he’s humming his own amused laugh and clasps a hand on Louis’ shoulder in sympathy as he moves over to his starting position.

Louis finds his own whilst pointedly not looking over at his mother.

 

***

 

“I really am so proud of him.” Jay murmurs, keeping her voice below the music. 

Harry nods from his place beside her, hands clasped loosely between his knees as he watches Zayn and Louis rehearse their strongest routine. They’ve long since stopped needing his input on this one, so he takes the opportunity to chat to Jay as they dance.

“As am I.” Harry nods. “He’s got such a talent, Jay. Really. And I’m not just saying that because I love him and I’m currently talking to his mum.” He chuckles.

Jay seems to pause, then her hand is coming to squeeze at Harry’s knee and he turns to see that she’s got tears in her eyes. 

Harry offers her a smile, placing his hand atop hers for a second until she pulls hers away and fumbles in her handbag for a tissue.

“I’m glad I’m getting to talk to you, actually.” She manages, her voice a little bit watery around the edges. “You’ve no idea what he’s been through. Well… Maybe you do, I’m not sure what he’s told you.” She sniffs, watching as Louis executes a perfect set of triple _pirouettes_ , oblivious to their conversation, lost in his movements.

“He’s never been able to fully embrace his dancing until you came along.” She continues, “Not properly. He was always picked on at school, right from a little age. It hurt, to hear what some of those children would say to him. You’d think children wouldn’t have those kinds of thoughts in their heads at that age, it angers me to know it was most likely due to their parents. No child looks at another child and judges them based on their interests unless they’ve been told those interests are wrong, or are only okay if applied to girls.” Her voice is shaky as she suddenly personalises the sentence, but Harry notices she’s doing well to keep her tears held back. He wants to take her hand in his and hold it properly.

“Louis used to have this book.” She continues, pausing to sniff again. “It was just a short little story about a ballerina and her teddy bear. She used to it dress up in a little tutu that matched hers. The teddy bear was called Jakey, and the girl called him a ‘he’ and addressed him as a boy. And Louis was so _taken_ by the fact that she was dressing her _boy_ teddy in a tutu.” Jay pauses again, balling up the tissue in her palm and fiddling with it. “He asked for a teddy for his birthday that year, and sure enough, the following year he asked for a tutu for it. My sister surprised him with a tutu for himself too, perfectly matching his teddy’s, and he just crumbled. Sitting on the carpet in front of the Christmas tree, crying his little eyes out because he’d been given a tutu.” She laughs a little, sniffing again. “And obviously, the new year came around, and he went back to school. They did a show-and-tell of what the children’s favourite Christmas presents were, and Lou was _so_ excited. He took in his tutu, and his teddy in the matching one. I left him at the school gates as this six-year-old bundle of sunshine, bright and excited and chatty.” Jay unballs the tissue in her hands and starts to fold it absently. “When I picked him up later that afternoon it was a completely different story. The teddy was bare, and both tutus had been stuffed inside his bookbag. My little sunshine’s face was grey and sad and he wouldn’t talk. I tried so hard to get him to tell me what had happened, Harry, but he wouldn’t say a word. It took _weeks_ before he finally let it out, crying over his dinner one night.” 

Jay pauses for longer this time, watching Zayn and Louis dancing together for a few seconds before shifting in her seat a little. Harry lifts his hand and offers it, palm up, for her to hold. She does, and gives him a grateful little squeeze.

“They’d laughed him back to his seat, Harry.” She finally says. “He’d gone up to the front, I can imagine him hardly able to stand still with his excitement, and he’d started showing them his tutu and the new tutu for his bear-…” She clears her throat. “And they’d all just _laughed_ at him. I don’t know whether they thought it was a joke or not, but either way, they’d laughed. One little girl had shouted out something about him dressing like a doll and being stupid for dressing up his teddy too. I went into the school as soon as I finally knew about it, and his teacher told me she’d quickly scolded the girl and tried to encourage Louis to continue, but…” Jay’s voice breaks. “He’d just stood there, Harry, clutching his bear and staring at the floor- _God_ , sorry…” She sucks in a shaky breath and this time tears do fall. “Sorry.”

Harry squeezes her hand and glances up to check on the two dancers. Zayn has noticed Jay’s expression, and Harry could kiss him when he purposely goes wrong on his next step, causing Louis to turn to face him in his confusion, his back to his crying mum. 

“It’s okay, Jay, god. It’s okay.” Harry shushes her. “I can’t-. To be honest I’m feeling both very angry and very helpless about it all right now.” He admits, moving so his arm is around her shoulders instead.

“Exactly how I felt at the time.” Jay manages. “I couldn’t do anything. And for ages he wouldn’t dance. He stopped going to his Saturday classes, he kept his tutu at the back of his wardrobe and left his teddy completely bare. It wasn’t until secondary school, when he met Perrie and she’d told him about her dance school, that he finally showed interest again.” 

“Wow, I didn’t know he’d known Perrie for that long.” 

Jay nods. 

“She was so good for him. Before he came out I used to hope that if he did find a girl, it’d be her.” Jay chuckles. Harry smiles. “He started attending the same dance school, and from there his confidence just grew. He still had trouble when it came to competitions, because male dancers at that age are so rare, and he was mixing with a lot of other schools. Kids who didn't understand. That’s why he was so hesitant about it when you suggested it for him. He’s got so many negative feelings connected to competition dancing.” Jay explains, then she moves out from under Harry’s arm so she can take his hand in both of hers and meet his eyes. She’s less teary. 

“You are the reason he was so okay in October.” She continues, looking at him with that fierceness only mothers seem to have. “Something about you being there just brought out that sparkle he had when he was six. I could see it whilst he was dancing, and when he came off, when he got his results. All of it.” She turns to watch Louis and Zayn as they bring the routine to an end. Louis’ eyes are closed and he’s kneeling gracefully, arms delicately poised above his head before he leans forward in a knelt bow.

“I owe you a lot, Harry Styles.” Jay continues, voice clearer and warm, eyes still on her son. “Whatever you’ve done for my boy, I could never thank you enough for. He’s totally smitten with his biggest passion all over again and it’s because of you.” 

Harry feels his own eyes start to water, nose prickling, and he lets out a short huff of laughter, bringing his hand to where Jay’s are still clasped around his other in his lap. 

“Well, he also needs some credit. It’s not all on me.” Harry counters, fighting back the wobble in his voice. “But I’m extremely grateful I was able to do this for him, because when he’s dancing, I can see how much he was born for it.” He watches Louis holding his ending position as the music dies out, bathing the room in silence. 

But Harry continues, “And of course, it meant I was able to meet the love of my life.”

Louis’ head snaps to him, eyes immediately finding his across the studio. Harry smiles, and he feels Jays’ hands tighten within his own when Louis returns it.

 

***

 

“I’ve got French bread and different hams and stuff if you wanna join us, Haz?”

It’s roughly ten minutes after the class has finished. Zayn had to dart off to sort out something to do with his sister and her friend’s birthday party, and Louis and Jay are just about to leave when Louis suggests that Harry join them for lunch at his place. 

“Ooh, I could never turn down an offer of French bread and different hams and stuff.” Harry quips, throwing Jay a cheeky grin. 

Louis shoves him.

“Oi, I can retract my offer. By all means go home to your empty flat and have a boring old salad.” 

“What makes you think my flat’s empty?” Harry chirps immediately, eyebrow raised. He smirks into the short silence that follows, Louis’ face the picture of confused shock.

Jay hums out a laugh.

Louis shoves him harder.

 

***

 

Jay has to leave late afternoon on Sunday so that she’s back to Doncaster in time to help sort the kids out for school the next day, but Louis makes sure to spend the majority of the morning doing things that make her either smile, laugh, or both. They indulge in a late breakfast at a Garfunkel’s in Central London, dipping in and out of various high-street shops as they head back towards Louis’ area, and spend a good couple of hours strolling through the park nearest to Louis’ flat with takeaway coffees, discussing the girls and their school work and how Louis misses them. He bashfully admits that he doesn’t visit home half as often as he should, but rather than agree with him and make him feel expectedly shit about himself, Jay surprisingly dismisses it, telling him he’s far too busy here in London at the moment and that she wants him to do well with Swan Lake, so he’d better make sure he puts every minute of his free time towards it. Louis has a feeling it also has something to do with the fact that she wants him to keep spending all his free time with Harry, but he doesn’t say that out loud. 

Louis bids her farewell at the platform just as the winter sky is starting to darken. He sees her onto the train with a long hug and a wave, and it feels a bit like their roles are reversed when he makes her promise to send him a text to let him know she made it home alright. 

He kicks at an empty drinks bottle as he leaves the station, the biting chill seeping deep into his clothes despite how many layers he’s wearing. He suddenly craves a warming glass of alcohol and a certain body to snuggle right up against. He gets his phone out straight away.

There’s already an unread text waiting for him and he swipes to open it quickly.

 

**Tommo! You def owe me one for this weekend. Sean’s been a right prick. Apparently those rucksacks I sorted out? Wrong shelves. Had to sort the fuckers out all over again in a different part of the shop. The shop’s not even that big! Why does it matter??! Anyway, lad. Hope you had a goodun with your ma, but please come back soon, mate. I’m dying here. N**

 

Louis finds himself laughing out loud at Niall’s misfortune, quickly thumbing a text to thank him again for taking on his shifts this weekend, apologising for having to sort out the rucksack fiasco alone, and assuring him that he’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.

He then opens up the conversation he’d been meaning to open in the first place, and fires off a quick text to Harry.

 

***

 

“As if I could ever turn down that kind of offer.” Harry is saying no sooner than he’s pulled open his door to greet an extremely cold Louis.

Louis levels him a look, but shuffles inside all the same, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

“Kettle’s just boiled. Or there’s a bottle of red I’ve been meaning to open?” Harry offers as they head to the kitchen. Louis drapes his coat and scarf over the back of a kitchen chair and rubs his stinging hands together, his jumper hanging loosely off his shoulders and falling just above his knee. It’s his favourite one, oversized and soft and perfect to bundle his fists up inside.

He moves over to where Harry’s opening up the cupboard where the mugs live, assumingly guessing Louis’ answer – _incorrect_ – and slings his arms around his slender waist to distract him. Harry’s lusciously warm and smells a bit like baked bread, and Louis wants to bury himself in the creases of his baggy pyjama shirt and never come out again.

Harry pauses with his arms up towards the cupboard, then changes course and turns in Louis’ hold, arms coming down around his shoulders to properly bundle him up in the loveliest of cuddles. Louis hums, happy, and then pulls his face up to rest his chin against the flat of Harry’s chest, peering straight up at him.

“Tea or?” Harry tries again, eyes soft and beautiful. _When are they not?_

Louis purses his lips in thought, realising he’s only actually sorted out _one_ of his cravings.

“Got any brandy?”

 

***

 

Between them, they manage about half the bottle of an expensive make that’s almost 40% alcohol, before Louis’ humming sleepily and opening his arms for Harry to drape himself into. 

Louis’ now on his back, propped up against the cushioned arm of the sofa with one arm slung out over the edge. The other is very firmly wrapped around an-equally sleepy Harry, who’s nestled tight against Louis’ chest, one arm tucked up underneath himself and the other also flopped over the edge of the sofa to lazily play with Louis’ fingers. He’s repeatedly interlocking them and then letting go to stroke at his palm a few times before stopping to gently pinch at his fingertips. It’s obvious that it’s an absent little routine, and Louis loves it, joining in once he’s got it memorised and earning a sweet little sigh of content from the man on his chest. 

The TV is off. Instead, Harry’s put on an old cd player that had apparently come with the flat, and Louis finds that Harry being a fan of Eva Cassidy doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. Her voice is smooth and angelic, tinkling through the living room as Louis feels Harry breathing evenly against him. If it weren’t for their affectionate hand-caressing routine, Louis would believe Harry to be almost asleep.

“Y’didn’t tell me your birthday was close to Chr’sm’s.”

Louis smiles fondly at how deep and slurred Harry sounds. He brings the hand that’s stroking at his back up to card through his hair, and drops his head to press a kiss into his curls.

_Someone’s been talking to my mother._ “It’s the 24 th.” He says, words muffled by chocolate locks that smell distractingly good. Floral and sweet but with undertones of something sharper.

Suddenly, the head of chocolate locks is moving, until Louis can see a pair of sleepy green eyes blinking up at him through a collapsed fringe of messy curls, lashes brushing the knit of his jumper every time Harry blinks.

“Christm’s Eve?” Harry asks, gravel sticking his vowels together. 

Louis nods, smoothing his fingers through the hair in front of Harry’s face and pushing it back and out the way. He likes his view of those emerald irises completely unobstructed, thank you. 

Harry blinks for a moment, then settles his head back where it was again, hand swooping Louis’ up when he absently scratches at the bridge of his nose, bringing Louis’ with it. Louis chuckles.

“Can’t believe I didn’t know.” Harry is mumbling, and Louis chuckles more, brandy making him feel warm and fuzzy and easily amused by the sleepy lump currently slumped on top of him. 

“I take it you don’t mind me crashing here tonight?” Louis asks then, breaking Harry’s soliloquy and earning those green eyes on him again. 

“Well, your text _did_ promise me a blowjob. S’the only reason I let you in.”

Louis full on cackles at that, high and eye-crinkling. The hand in Harry’s hair comes to cup at his jaw instead, meeting his eyes and grinning.

“You’re so fucking-…” He trails off, delighting in the pleased gleam in Harry’s eyes. “I love you.” He says instead, letting out another soft laugh, trying to twist his mouth away from a grin and failing. Harry just grins right back.

“Come on,” He promptly pats at Harry’s clothed bum and gestures for the taller man to let him up. “Time for bed, I think.” 

Harry nods and slowly manoeuvres himself to stand, stumbling a bit once he’s up. He blames it on a head rush but Louis knows it’s the brandy. He just about manages to stop himself stumbling too, after all, and he grabs for Harry’s hand as they stagger out of the living room and down the corridor.

“We’ve left Eva on.” Harry mumbles, voice achingly thick and low as he leans against the wall for a second, then dissolves into bright giggles that have Louis grinning to himself as he finds the light switch in Harry’s room and presses it. 

“Go and get in bed, you drunken buffoon. I’ll sort Eva out.”

“Will you now?” Harry raises his eyebrows and sets Louis a look that should last a good few seconds less than he leaves it. It makes Louis chuckle again. “Should I be jealous, Lou?” 

“Yeah, Haz, go and get in bed whilst I just go and fuck your CD player. Honestly.” He laughs, and Harry’s already there, stumbling backwards with a hand on his stomach as he cackles, moving until his calves hit the bed and he’s falling onto his bum. This just makes him laugh harder, flopping back onto his back as he giggles at the ceiling.

Louis rolls his eyes, fighting past his own brandy-fog as he heads back to the lounge, locates the ‘off’ button on the CD player and brings Eva’s crooning to a halt. A loud cheer erupts from the bedroom followed by a series of slow, large-handed claps, and Louis bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of his boyfriend. 

“We are boyfriends aren’t we, Haz?” He says as he appears back in the doorway of the bedroom. 

“Mm?” Harry cranes his neck to prop his head up and look at Louis. He’s completely unmoved, still flat as a pancake, star-fished across the double bed with his hair a curly mess across the duvet. “Course. What else would we be?”

“Dunno.” Louis answers, kicking himself out of his jeans. “Love you.” 

Harry drops his head back onto the bed.

“Love you too. Even though you broke your blowjob promise.” 

Louis scoffs as he throws his jumper off, then launches himself into Harry’s lap, catching himself on his hands and revelling in the semi-terrified look in Harry’s eyes. 

“Thought you w’gonna land on me.” He breathes, a hand finding his heart as his eyes close in relief. 

Louis laughs and smacks a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

 

***

 

They wake up at about four in the morning, considerably less brandy-warmed, and still above the covers. Ultimately, this brief period of awake-ness ends with Louis tackling a much-sleepier Harry’s limbs until he’s completely under the duvet, and then both of them fall back to sleep without so much as a proper word.

When they wake up the second time, it’s because an alarm on Louis’ phone is sounding from somewhere outside the bedroom, and it’s been going off in regular intervals for about an hour.

“ _Fucks sake_.” Louis groans, burying himself beneath the duvet in a huffy attempt to block it out. It doesn’t really work.

“Lou, turn it off.” Harry grumbles from above him, turning his body towards Louis, not realising the smaller man is buried further down the bed than him, and ultimately squashing his pelvis into Louis’ face.

“Oh- _Fuck_! Harry, get your morning wood out of my face, _fucking_ -!” Louis huffs, immediately sitting up and taking the duvet with him. This results in a pouting Harry, blinking up at him from the bed, looking both confused and suddenly very chilly. He wraps his arms around himself and pouts harder.

“Didn’t have to steal the duvet, Lou. Go and turn your alarm off.”

“Didn’t have to nearly choke me with your dick, Haz. _You_ go and turn the alarm off.”

Harry frowns, pout still pushing his lips out. “It’s your phone?”

“It’s your flat!” Louis immediately counters, wrapping the duvet around his shoulders like a blanket. “And I’m technically still in bed. You’re technically not. So technically, you’re closer-”

“ _Technically_ ,” Harry interrupts him, suddenly sitting up too and lunging forward, knocking Louis onto his back and craning his body over him. “I could kick you out right now.”

Louis ignores the swirling deep in his gut as Harry hovers possessively above him, nose inches from his, and instead moves to glance at the clock past the younger man’s shoulder. 

“To be honest, we need to leave soon anyway, it’s almost half eight.” He nods to where he’s looking, and when Harry turns to follow his gaze he uses the opportunity to hitch his legs up tight around the taller man’s hips and flip them over, earning a dull cry of surprise from Harry, followed by a half-impressed scowl as he blinks up at him.

There’s a pause, and then Louis is smirking.

“We really do have to start getting ready to go, I’m afraid.” He admits, leaning down to kiss at Harry’s jaw in apology. “It’s a shame,” he extends his apology downwards, nimble fingers sliding up underneath Harry’s sleep-shirt – and wow, Harry must’ve really been gone last night, because since when does he sleep in more than his boxers? Louis inwardly laughs. 

“It’s a shame, ‘cause I’m not usually one to break my promises.” His mouth is at the dip of Harry’s collarbones, hands having pushed the shirt up above his pecs. As if to add context to his point – Harry isn’t always great at catching on first thing in the morning, especially after alcohol – Louis slips a hand down to palm at Harry through his pyjamas. He just catches the darkening of Harry’s eyes, his teeth peeking out to pinch at his plush bottom lip, before he’s removing himself from the man entirely, swinging his legs over and off the bed and heading for the ensuite.

“You’re such a tease.” Harry half-heartedly scolds, making to get up and follow him. 

Louis grins and quickly closes the door on him.

 

***

 

November swiftly folds under the cold weight of December, thick and grey and buzzing with festive excitement.

Classes begin to take a warmer turn, the studio heating cranked up high and legwarmers making their annual appearance over ballet tights and satin. Even Harry starts wearing some, much to Louis amusement, because _of course_ he’d own neon yellow ones.

Perrie’s change colour every week, Jade’s are the simple, pale pink ballet ones they sell at the shop behind the studio’s front desk. Louis’ are black, something he’s gotten stick for every single year because “black is the colour of examination legwarmers, Lou, live a little”. And the thing is, up until recently, Louis didn’t give a toss what colour his legwarmers were, only that they warmed his legs. Which really, is the main concern anyone should be having _anyway_. But this year, there’s the addition of a certain _someone_ also moaning at him about how “unjolly” – “that’s not a word, Harold” – they are. So Louis has caved. He’s broken. He’s given up.

He strolls into class on the third Friday of December, a tiny few minutes late to ensure no one else would’ve still been in the changing room with him, and straight away, he’s getting a mix of odd looks, poorly-hidden giggles, and highly amused grinning.

“Oh my god!” Perrie’s voice calls loud above the room, followed by a twinkly laugh, and Louis just throws her a cheery wave, trying not to laugh too much himself. 

“Well, you can’t say he didn’t listen. They’re definitely not black.” Kevin nods at him as he strolls past.

Louis has just about reached the centre when Harry finally turns away from chatting with Ruby about something, eyes falling first on Louis’ own, then dropping down to his legs where he blinks for a second, then lifts his face again, mouth curling up at one side and nostrils flaring just a tad. He’s trying not to laugh.

“And!” Louis holds up his hands to gesture that everyone give him a second. He bends to reach for the two red pom-poms at the front of each shin, and squeezes.

_“Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose…”_

The song continues as people around him giggle, but Louis’ really only watching for Harry’s reaction, which takes a few seconds, but then he’s bending double and dropping his head, a hand finding his abdomen as he shakes with laughter. 

Louis grins.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you’ve got fucking reindeers on your legs, Lewis.” Jade laughs, mid-routine as she joins him for a particular section near the back corner.

“Ssh!” Louis scolds, finger to his lips. “Concentrate on your work, Jade Thirlwall! And I do believe the plural of ‘reindeer’ is ‘reindeer’.” 

“Is it?” Jade frowns, lips pushing out and head tilting in thought. 

“Louis! _Jade_ again! Do I have to confiscate your lovely legwarmers or are you actually going to start concentrating on your steps?” Harry calls from the front of the studio, painting Louis’ cheeks pink and pulling a giggle out of Jade’s mouth. As soon as he’s said it, his attention is elsewhere, not even meeting Louis’ eyes when Louis turns to acknowledge him. So he waits, still dancing, but keeping his eyes fixed on his boyfriend, until sure enough, Harry’s emeralds flick back to look at him, and the smaller man raises his chin defiantly. Harry rolls his eyes and fails to disguise his fond smile.

“Okay! We’re getting there, guys, we’re about halfway now.” Harry is explaining once the lesson is over and people are swigging from bottles, draped across the floor and sweating far too much for a late afternoon in December. “We’ve got roughly the same amount of routines left to learn now, so we’re halfway through them. How’s everyone feeling?” 

The class lets out a general murmur of content, and Harry leans back against the wall behind him and folds his arms, legs crossing at the ankle. 

“If anyone has any particular routines they feel a bit less secure about, let me know. Likewise, if there’s any choreography you dislike or feel like you’re struggling with physically, please tell me. I don’t want you to feel like you’ve just got to struggle through anything you’re unsure about, okay?” He tells them, earning a few nods. “Good, okay. We’ve not got long left until the Christmas break now. Your last class will be next Friday, and your first one back is the first Friday of January. Don’t turn up between those dates because I won’t be here.” He flashes them a grin, laughter tinkering through the studio. “Alright, guys, you’re free to go.” 

Everyone starts moving, making their way back to the changing room and chatting tiredly, grateful for the weekend. 

“You still got any of that Spicy Chicken soup left? I really fancy some.” Louis asks once the studio is relatively empty and Harry’s doing his usual music system shut-down routine.

The taller man glances sideways at him, smiling.

“I do indeed. Is this your way of trying to get a free meal out of me, Louis Tomlinson?” He quips, winking as he turns the machine off at the wall and pulls the plug out.

Louis pauses.

“No, it’s more of my way of trying to get into your bed on a cold Friday evening, after you’ve fed me spicy chicken soup and given me a foot rub. My _pointe_ shoes were hurting today.”

Harry chuckles, turning to bring Louis towards him with a hand at his neck, dropping a kiss into his hair. 

“It’s because your feet are cold. I’ll give them a rub later, no problem.” He promises, moving back to pull off his yellow legwarmers and shove them into his bag. 

“And the spicy chicken soup?” Louis presses, watching Harry’s mouth curl into a warm smile as he fiddles inside his bag.

“Yes, you’re welcome to some of my leftover soup.” Harry nods, zipping it up and immediately enveloping Louis in his arms afterwards. Louis figures Harry must’ve guessed what his next question would be, because he’s rumbling out a chuckle, deep in his chest, before Louis’ even finished speaking. 

“And the getting into your bed?” He half-whispers, incapable of hiding his cheeky grin as he peers up at Harry’s amused eyes and lets a hand slip a little further down Harry’s back.

Harry sweeps some of Louis’ fringe from his face, cupping his cheek and using it to bring him into a kiss.

“Anytime.” He murmurs against his mouth, voice low and intentions obvious. He nudges his bottom lip against Louis’ before he adds, “But keep the legwarmers on, yeah?”

Louis’ resulting laughter is high, sharp and uncontrollable, eyes crinkling as Harry holds him close, his own deeper laughter complimenting Louis’. 

“Tosser.” Louis mutters fondly, closing the gap to kiss him again before Harry can be any more ridiculous.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading!
> 
> \- Iris x
> 
> OTHER MEDIA:  
> Twitter: @starryeyediris  
> Tumblr: iris-avis


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